


I Can't Heal You (but I'll hold you)

by Sophtly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek POV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Happy Ending, Lots of references to TV show Supernatural, M/M, PTSD, Road Trip, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Stiles POV, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophtly/pseuds/Sophtly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Nogitsune leaves Stiles a shell of his former self, Derek decides to take him on a road trip out of Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Heal You (but I'll hold you)

**Author's Note:**

> A few things you should know: first of all, you can assume that most things that happened between seasons one and seasons 3b did happen in this universe, with the exception that Erica did not die. Because I like her and I want to use her later in this series. Oh, and Malia doesn't exist. I'm sorry. I don't hate her as a character, but I don't feel like dealing with her and her story in these fics. Thanks for understanding. 
> 
> You should also know that I screwed with timelines (Stiles is possessed near the end of his senior year, for example) as much as I wanted to and also made Derek and Stiles and the Sheriff a lot closer than they ever appeared to be in season 3b. 
> 
> Basically, I am the queen of this universe and I do what I will. 
> 
> I was going to post this in chapters, but AO3 hates me so much when it comes to formatting, I decided to do it all in one go and hope for the best. POV does switch between Derek and Stiles, but I put in breaks and I hope it's clear whose POV it is as it goes along. 
> 
> This story will eventually be a part of a larger series that will be a Teen Wolf/Supernatural crossover, but I thought it stood well on its own and I don't know when I will get around to writing the entire series and wanted to publish it. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Wait- I hope you enjoy it more because writing is fun, but also hellish torture.

Derek tells himself that he doesn’t go to see Stiles because he doesn’t want to intrude. It has nothing to do with the fact that Scott goes worried and pale every time the topic of Stiles comes up and Derek is scared shitless of what he’ll find if he goes to visit. He doesn’t know for sure what is going on with Stiles, only knows that he hasn’t been right since the Nogitsune. He’s missed a month of school and hasn’t left his room.

It takes six weeks for him to go see Stiles. His stomach is in knots when he knocks on the door. When the Sheriff answers he looks tired. He’s aged a few years in the last month. “Derek, it’s good to see you, son,” he says. Derek doesn’t catch a lie, and it surprises him, the warmth he feels from the Sheriff, the way he almost looks relieved to see him. “Here to see Stiles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re here.”

“How is he?”

“He’s...not well. I don’t know what to tell you. He hasn’t said more than a few words in the past month and a half.”

Derek is stunned for a moment. Strange that this, the fact that Stiles isn’t talking, is what sends his mind spinning. It’s just that Stiles never shuts up. Never. Even when Derek wants him to. He’s gotten used to the rhythm of Stiles’ voice, the way he speaks as much with his hands and body as he does with his mouth.

“I know,” the Sheriff says with a sad smile, “we always used to joke that’s how we knew something was really wrong with him, but now…” he trails off, rubs a hand over his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I should have come sooner, been there for him, and for you.”

“You’re here now, and that’s what counts. I don’t know if he’ll say anything, but you should talk to him. He mentioned you a few times, in the beginning, before he went silent.”

“You should have called. I would have come. I know I should have come anyway but…”

The sheriff sees through him, just like always. “You were scared of what you’d find. Hoped he’d get better.”

“I- yes,” He admits.

“Just talk to him, okay? He likes you. Always has, even when he was trying to get you arrested for murder,” he chuckles “ there was always something there. Stiles tends to latch onto certain people, and once you’re his, you’re his for life.” Derek returns the Sheriff’s smile as best he can. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Wants to tell the sheriff that he felt it too, that belonging, but he’s not sure if he should. “He’s upstairs in his room. Go on up. I’ll be here if you need me.”

He knocks on the bedroom door, but goes on in when he doesn’t hear an answer. Stiles is spinning slowly in his desk chair, eyes vacant in a way Derek has never seen them. He’s wearing sweatpants and a faded red t-shirt, his hair looks like it hasn’t been touched for a few days at least.“Hey Stiles,” he says softly, “I uh, just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

Stiles comes to a halt facing him. Eyes snapping up. For a moment there’s a glimpse of the old Stiles before his face shuts down again.

“Your dad let me in. I came through the front door and everything. Bet you didn’t even know I knew how to use doors,” he says, remembering how many times Stiles has made fun of him for using the window instead. Stiles doesn’t say anything though, just starts spinning idly in the chair again, face empty. Derek sits on the edge of the bed and watches him for a few long minutes. “Sure is weird to be in the same room as you and have it be this quiet,” Derek tells him honestly. He’s decided not to treat Stiles differently than he would if he were well, even though he’s haunted by Stiles’ pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes and it’s hard to imagine that the Stiles he knew is in there somewhere. If he’s in there, he’ll be pissed if Derek babies him, that much he knows for sure.

“This is going to make things awkward, you know,” he tells him, “You not talking and me not being much of a talker. Maybe I’ll have to change that I guess. I can’t very well just sit here and stare at you, now can I? Plus, watching you spin on that chair is making me dizzy. I’m surprised you haven’t thrown up yet.” He might have imagined it, but he thinks Stiles pauses in his spinning for just a second, a small stutter that Derek almost misses.

Derek swings his legs up and lays back on the bed, hands folded on his stomach. “Now I feel like I’m at the therapist’s,” he tells Stiles. “I’m sure if you were in a talking sort of mood you’d tell me that I probably need a therapist anyway. I figure mostly all they do is sit there and nod and say ‘mmhmm...tell me about your mother,’ so you’ll probably do just as well.” He feels his throat tighten around the word ‘mother,’ but he suddenly thinks maybe he does want to tell someone about his mother. “I’ll tell you about her sometime, my mom I mean,” he promises Stiles and himself.

He’s with Stiles for an hour. He doesn’t remember the last times he talked that much. It’s a lot of nothing, really. He tells Stiles all the newest pack news, throws in a few Erica stories because he knows Stiles is terrified of her and also half in love with her. Stiles stops spinning in his chair after the first fifteen minutes or so, but he still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at Derek. He just sits and stares at the floor, fingers drumming restlessly on the arms of his chair.

“He say anything?” The sheriff asks when Derek comes back downstairs.

“No.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? I never thought I’d miss all those questions he asks. Man, he used to drive me crazy when he was younger. Just follow me around asking a million questions a minute. I didn’t know most of the answers, but he kept asking anyway.”

“I know what you mean,” Derek says. “Can I come back and see him tomorrow?” It’s strange to realize he’s not asking out of guilt, but rather because he wants to see Stiles, even like this. He didn’t realize how much he missed him. He hasn’t gone this long without seeing Stiles ever in the three years they’ve known each other. It hurts to see him like this, but it hurts worse to think of not seeing him at all.

“Sure. Come by any time. That would be great, Derek. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, just forgive me for not coming earlier?”

“Already done.”

“Call me if you need me, or if Stiles needs anything. Really, any time.”

“Thanks, Derek, drive safe, okay? If I leave before you get here tomorrow, I’ll just leave a key under the mat. Or you can come in however you usually do,” he adds with a knowing look.

Derek tries and fails not to look guilty. “Uh yeah, sure. Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

**

He doesn’t sleep well that night. He keeps dreaming about Stiles. He’s calling for Derek, face ghostly pale, and Derek tries to get to him, but he can’t. When he finally gets to Stiles, he’s lying in a pool of his own blood. He looks up at Derek and asks “Where were you? Why didn’t you help me?” And then he dies. It happens over and over and over until Derek gives up and climbs out of bed. He turns the TV on for noise, paces the loft for hours as the sun slowly rises on the horizon.

He doesn’t want to think about what it means that he’s this affected after seeing Stiles. He hasn’t wanted to think about what his feelings for Stiles are for a long time. He was only 15 when they met, but already Derek felt something between them, a buzzing energy that couldn’t be quelled, no matter how many fights they had, or how many times Derek pushed Stiles up against walls or got in his face. He’s not proud of his actions in those early days. He winces at all the times he intimidated Stiles, used his physical presence to force Stiles into things. Or tried to force Stiles into things. Even back then, even though he reeked of fear, he stood up to Derek. He knows he was young too, barely 21, and he hadn’t known how to handle everything that was being thrown at him. Clearly, he didn’t handle it well, but it was okay, for a while. Things were almost good. He and Stiles were...friends? Certainly not enemies anymore.

But then the Nogitsune happened. He doesn’t even like to think about those dark months, about what they lost. So many deaths still hang heavy in the air, like a thick blanket of grief over the town. Derek feels overwhelmed by it. He’s had too much grief in his lifetime. It makes him feel ancient sometimes. He can’t lose Stiles too. He won’t.

I’m not going to let you go, he thinks fiercely. He goes through the motions of getting ready for the day. Drinks coffee. Showers. Pulls on jeans and a well-worn henley. It feels like it takes too long for it to become an acceptable enough hour for him to go see Stiles, but eventually he’s able to head out the door.

The Sheriff meets him on the porch. “Didn’t expect you this early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

The Sheriff nods in understanding. “A lot of that going around these days.” They stand and look at each other for a moment, the weight of everything they’ve been through hanging between them. “It’s good, you being here,” the sheriff finally says. “He seemed different today. Even came down and ate breakfast. Still not talking or anything, but it’s good to see him eat. I’ve had to force him to most days.”

“Good. That’s.really good. Doubt I can take credit for it, but I’m glad to hear it.”

“Well, we’ll see. Hate to get my hopes up about anything these days,” the Sheriff admits. Derek shuffles his feet, feels the ache of the words in his chest. “Well, I gotta get to work. Take care, son.” He squeezes Derek’s shoulder as he walks past. Derek tries not to get lost in how good it feels to be called ‘son,’ or the way a caring touch makes his heart feel like it’s going to split in two.

Stiles doesn’t answer his knock, and when Derek opens the bedroom door, he’s spinning in his chair again. Like last time, he stops when Derek greets him, lifts large brown eyes to his face. Derek looks at him and wills him to say something, but he doesn’t, just drops his eyes and lets his arms hang loosely over the arms of the chair. At least he’s not spinning this time.

Derek kicks off his shoes and makes himself comfortable on the bed, propping his head up against the pillows. They sit there in silence for a long time. He’s almost drifting to sleep before he catches himself. “So, Dr. Stilinski, I’m here for my second visit. I have to say, I don’t think you did your job very well last time. Clearly I’m still messed up.” Stiles’s back is still to him, neck and shoulders tight with tension. “Oh, you think I should tell you about my mother? Okay. I will.” Very, very slowly the chair starts turning towards him. He can see Stiles’s profile now, the upturn of his nose, the freckle on his right cheekbone.

“She was beautiful, you know,” He tells Stiles. He doesn’t mind that his voice catches a bit when he says it. It feels good to tell someone about her. “My brothers and sisters, they used to make fun of me for being such a mama’s boy, but I just loved her so much. She was perfect to me.” Stiles is facing him full on now, although his eyes are still trained on the floor. “She used to make these amazing butter cookies. They’d melt in your mouth. She used to use them to bribe me into talking. Never was that good with my words. In the winter she’d make me hot chocolate and those cookies and make the younger kids go play in the snow while we talked. She always wanted to know what was going on with me.

We never fought until...until I met Kate.” Her name feels like acid in his mouth. Stiles’s hand twitches, clenches into a fist. “I thought I was in- in love. God, I was so stupid.” There are tears prickling his eyes now. When he looks up Stiles is looking right at him. He’s got this fierceness in his eyes that Derek thinks is anger at first, but starts to realize is something else. Stiles’ hands clench and unclench at his sides, he looks for all the world like he’s going to say something, and for a few breathless moments he thinks he’s going to, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah, anyway, this conversation went downhill fast, huh?” He says with a self-deprecating laugh. “You would have have liked my mom. She would have liked you too. You and Laura on the other hand,” he’s surprised to find himself smiling, even though his eyes are still damp, “You two would have fought like cats and dogs. Kind of like you and me I guess, only worse, because neither of you would ever stop talking. She was like my dad, they both had that fiery temper, you know?” Stiles is looking at the floor again, but his hands have unclenched, some of the tension in his shoulders bleeds out.

“One day though, you two would have become friends and then nothing would have ever stopped you. Ever. God, you two could have taken over the world.” He lets his voice trail off, imagines a world where Stiles and Laura are best friends, where he can roll his eyes at them but eventually end up doing everything they tell him to do anyway. Silence fills the room again, but it feels lighter this time. He feels his breaths getting long, his eyes drifting closed, and this time he lets them.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, but when he wakes up, Stiles isn’t in his chair. His heart thumps loudly in his chest and he’s about to jump up and look for him when a small noise beside him makes him turn. Stiles is curled up on the bed, knees tucked into his chest, hands curled inward. He doesn’t look all that comfortable, without even a pillow for his head, but he’s sleeping. Derek doesn’t move until he hears the door open downstairs. He gets up as carefully as he can. Stiles’s neck is at an odd angle, so Derek cups his head gently, lifts it just enough to slide a pillow underneath. Stiles mumbles in his sleep and smacks his lips together, but doesn’t wake up, so Derek take the blanket and pull it up over him, letting it settle lightly before he tiptoes downstairs.

“He’s sleeping,” he tells the sheriff before he can say anything.

The sheriff’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sleeping?” He says softly. “I haven’t seen him sleep in weeks.” There’s something like hope filtering into his eyes and voice. “I mean, I know he must sleep a bit now and then, but I have literally not seen him laying down for at least a month.”

“Oh,” Derek says, genuinely surprised, “Well, that’s good then I guess.” He stands in the entryway for a little, shifts on his feet. “I’ll just let myself out.”

The sheriff nods. “You’ll come again?”

“Tomorrow,” Derek promises,and slips out the door.

**

Derek comes to see him every day for a week.At least Stiles thinks it’s a week. He loses track of time these days. The first time Derek comes, he’s so startled he almost says something, but he holds it back. Derek actually talks. For a long time. It’s one of the stranger things Stiles has ever encountered, and this is coming from guy that spent half a year possessed by an evil spirit. Derek stays and talks for a while and then he leaves. Stiles goes back to spinning in his chair, trying to make his mind carefully blank. It’s better that way.

He didn’t stop talking right at first after he...got himself back, but before long it seemed like words just made the darkness fill in again, like he had to be silent so he could keep it away. So he went silent. He feels bad when his friends looks sad, try to get him to talk,but he’s barely holding on. He can’t let anything make him lose his focus.

Then Derek comes along. Derek comes along and talks about his mom.. He talks about his mom and Kate and then he takes a nap on Stiles’s bed, like it’s nothing to sleep in the middle of the day. Stiles watches him for a long time, watches the way the muscles in his forearms unbunch and relax against his stomach, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek when something disturbs his sleep from time to time. Stiles feels his own breath matching to Derek’s and decides that maybe falling asleep isn’t such a hard thing, so before he can question it, he crosses the room and curls up on the bed.

When he wakes up Derek is gone and he himself is covered in a blanket, head resting on a pillow, which he knows for a fact was not there when he went to sleep. He tries to imagine Derek being gentle enough to tuck him in and get his head on a pillow without waking him and he can’t, so he decides it must have been his dad.

Derek just keeps coming over and talking. He tells Stiles about everyone in his family, even the little cousins. Sometimes he cries, but he doesn’t stop talking. Stiles wants to say something, but he’s silent for a different reason now. He’s silent because when Derek is there, something inside him actually feels peaceful. He’s scared that if he opens his mouth, all this will shatter and the darkness will come back. So he lets Derek talk and he listens, mostly. He can’t quite quiet his brain, so he goes off to other places sometimes and misses what Derek says, but he’s always able to come back.

Derek naps in his bed. It becomes a thing. He talks for a long while and then he sleeps, and Stiles eventually curls up beside him every time. Every time he wakes up and he’s covered with a blanket, head pillowed carefully and his dad isn’t always home, so he knows he was wrong- it had to be Derek that did it. It’s strange to think about Derek’s hands, the same hands that have ripped and killed and maimed, cradling his head, and slipping a pillow underneath, smoothing a blanket on top of him. Stiles decides there was a lot he didn’t know about Derek. There’s not so much anymore, except for why Derek is coming to see him every day. That he doesn’t know.

So Derek has been coming to see him for about a week and on Monday, or something like that, again, Stiles not so good with time, Stiles is standing by the window, watching the trees aimlessly. He hears Derek come in and turns. Derek is stands in the doorway, holding a duffle in one hand and wearing a look of determination on his face. He goes to Stiles’s drawers and starts getting things out, socks underwear, t-shirts, and stuffing them in the bag. Stiles wants to ask “What are you doing?” But he doesn’t.

Derek answers anyway. “I’m taking you on a road trip,” he tells Stiles. “I asked your dad. He said I could. I think you need to see something outside these four walls for once, and outside this god-forsaken town,” he adds in a mutter so low Stiles almost misses it.

Stiles is stunned. If he’d had his speech to begin with, he would have been stunned into silence. As it is, he sits down heavily on the side of the bed, watches Derek with wide eyes.

“If there’s anything you for sure want with you, better add it to the bag,” Derek tells him. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone. Could be weeks.”

Weeks? Stiles doesn’t move. Derek’s actually doing a pretty good job of packing, seems to know instinctively which shirts Stiles will want, which are his favorite pants. He even wraps up Stiles’s laptop and packs it away in the case he finds in the closet. Stiles hasn’t used it since...since it happened, but it used to be like an extension of himself. Somehow it feels important to have it with, wherever this new version of Derek is taking him.

He’s suddenly nervous, feels his hands twisting in his lap, his heart-rate picking up. The blackness is creeping around the edges and Stiles squirms away from it. Derek hears it too, comes to kneel down in front of him. “Hey, calm down. It’s going to be okay,” he tells Stiles. His hand lifts, like he’s going to touch Stiles, then falls back to his side. “Your dad is coming home to say goodbye before we head out, okay?” He does reach out then, pats Stiles on the knee awkwardly. The touch sends a spark shooting under his skin..

Derek must hear the uptick in Stiles’s heartbeat because he frowns. “No touching?” he asks Stiles. Stiles is suddenly terrified that if he doesn’t do something, Derek will never touch him again, so his hand shoots out before he can stop it, grabs Derek’s hand and puts it back on his knee, heart hammering wildly. “So we’re okay with touching,” Derek says finally. “Good to know.” He gives his knee a little squeeze and stands again. He goes back to packing and Stiles tries to slow his heart rate down to a manageable rate, worries that the darkness will get back in.

Derek leaves the rooms and Stiles can hear him rummaging around in the bathroom. He comes back in the bedroom with Stiles’s toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a few other items, and dumps them on the bed beside Stiles. “I’m even bringing your hair gel,” he tells Stiles with a smirk, “You know, in case you get a hot date and want to do something with that fluff on top of your head.” Stiles hasn’t looked in a mirror for a while, studiously avoids the ones around the house. He’s afraid of what he’ll see when he looks in there. Maybe he should though, he knows his hair is getting too long and it’s probably not flattering. Not that it needs to be, these days. Derek doesn’t say anything else though, just unzips a pocket on the side of the bag and shoves everything inside. “Anything else you need?” He asks Stiles, almost as if he expects an answer. Stiles thinks about it, thinks about opening his mouth and saying something, but it makes his head hurt to think about it, so he stays silent. “Good. Looks like we’re ready to hit the road. Your dad’s just pulling into the driveway. Perfect timing.” He swings the duffel over his shoulder and heads for the door. Stiles sits frozen on the bed. “Well come on then,” Derek says, and Stiles gets off the bed and follows him downstairs.

His dad is waiting in the kitchen when they get downstairs. “Hello, Derek,” he says with a nod, “Son,” to Stiles with another nod. It’s painful to look at his dad these days. Stiles hates what he’s doing to him. He wants to come back to the world for his dad, he does, but he has to stay focused. If he doesn’t stay focused the darkness will get him again. He knows it. He can feel it creeping around the edges wanna hear a riddle, Stiles?

Dad and Derek are talking quietly over by the dining room table, and he thinks he hears Derek mention something about possible routes, so he wishes he could listen, but he can’t. Right now he has to fend off the darkness. He has to fend off the darkness and the edges of a panic attack coming on whenever he thinks about walking out that door. Out there are the people left behind. The people left after Stiles killed their loved ones. Everyone tells him it wasn’t him, but it still feels like it was. He still feels guilty. He doesn’t want to look any of them in the eye.

It takes him a minute to realize that his dad and Derek are back in the kitchen. His dad looks uncomfortable but there’s something else about him too. He looks hopeful maybe? Stiles can’t quite put his finger on it. “Well, son, have fun,” his dad tells him. “Derek is going to take really good care of you, aren’t you Derek?”

“Yes sir,” Derek says quickly.

“I’ll only be a phone call away. I love you.” His voice cracks just a bit at the end, a sound that threatens to destroy what little control Stiles has. His dad hugs him hard and says “come home soon” into his ear, and Stiles knows that he doesn’t just mean coming back to Beacon Hills from wherever Derek is taking him. He wants to say “I will,” but once again, the words stay inside.

“Take care,” Derek tells the sheriff, “I’ll stay in touch.”

“You do that.”

Derek leads Stiles to the front door where Stiles’s feet seem to stick to the floor, breath coming out in little pants. Derek puts a hand between his shoulder blades, “You’ve got this. Stiles Stilinski drives cars into giant lizards. He can walk out the front door.” It shouldn’t help, but it does and Stiles lets Derek guide him out finally. Stiles ducks his head and walks quickly to where Derek’s car sits, shiny and black as ever, all smooth lines and raw power. Kind of like Derek, Stiles thinks involuntarily, then pushes it away. “Go ahead and get in, I”ll put the stuff in the back,” Derek says, popping the trunk as he speaks. Stiles slides into the passenger seat and closes the door. He’s thankful for the dark windows. He feels safe in the car. It’s close and comfortable and filled with the scent of Derek. He puts his seatbelt on and pulls his hood up over his face, scrunches into the corner.

Derek gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car, shifts into gear smoothly and backs down and out the lane, heading for the main highway. Stiles breathes and tries not to think. It feels itchy under his skin, like he needs to get out of his own body. He turns his head and watches the houses flash by until they’re finally out of town.

He doesn’t know how much time passes when he jolts awake, shocked that he fell asleep in the first place. Derek glances over at him, then turns back to the road. There’s music playing softly from the radio, and Stiles can catch glimpses of the ocean just past Derek’s profile beside him, sun glinting off water, making Stiles squint against the brightness. Derek reaches up to the visor and pulls down another pair of sunglasses. “Here,” he says, shoving them at Stiles. Stiles blinks at Derek until he shoves them at him again. He takes the sunglasses from Derek and puts them on. It does feel better.

“I thought we’d stop for lunch before we get to the redwoods,” Derek tells him. “I’m getting hungry anyway.” They end up stopping at a small mom and pop place a half hour or so later. Stiles is jittery, leg pumping up and down under the table, fingers drumming restlessly along the top. It feels weird to be so far from home, so far from the comfort and safety of his own bedroom. The waitress comes and Derek ends up ordering for both of them, chicken strips and salad for himself, and a bacon cheeseburger with fries for Stiles.

“You know,” Derek says after the waitress leaves, startling Stiles out of his thoughts, “You’re going to make people thing I’ve kidnapped you. Or that I’m the type of controlling boyfriend who won’t let you speak or order your own food.” Stiles glances up at him, a little nervous as to what he’ll see on Derek’s face, but he doesn’t look angry. Stiles can’t manage to tear his eyes away from Derek’s for a good minute. Derek finally breaks the silence.“Nothing bad is going to happen if you talk, you know that, right? I mean, if the world was going to stop spinning it probably would have happened when Stiles Stilinski stopped speaking, not the other way around.” He bumps Stiles’s leg under the table with his foot, gives him a little smile.

Stiles thinks about talking, wonders how easy it would be to say something, but a little voice in his head says not yet. Not yet. He drops his eyes from Derek’s face at last and stares at the table, tries to breathe back the focus. Derek doesn’t say anything else, and when their food arrives they eat in silence. Stiles can’t manage to eat all the food. He hasn’t eaten properly in weeks, and he feels full before he’s even half done, but Derek just reaches across the table and steals his fries and eats the rest of the burger like it’s nothing. “More for me,” he tells Stiles, his voice light. Stiles suspects that he’s just happy he ate anything at all.

They reach the redwoods by early afternoon and Derek pays to enter the park, guides the car down twisting roads through tall trees that block out most of the light. Stiles is surprised when Derek pulls off into a parking area. He gets out of the car and twists, stretching. Stiles can only see half his body, watches the way his shirt rides up as he stretches, revealing his enviable six pack. Derek bends down and ducks his head back into the car, and Stiles blushes like he’s been caught at something, even though he doesn’t know why. “C’mon,” Derek says, “We’re going for a walk.”

Stiles stumbles down the trail after Derek. It’s the middle of the day on a Monday and school isn’t out for another week, so the park isn’t as busy as usual. They pass other walkers from time to time, but it’s quieter than the other times Stiles has been here. A shaft of sunlight hits the ground in front of him and he stops and looks up. The trees are so tall, stretching into the sky and Stiles feels small. Overwhelmingly small. His heart starts beating faster in his chest. He feels frightened and lost, like the woods will swallow him up and nobody will ever find him.

It takes him a bit to realize that Derek is beside him, pressing his hand into the small of his back. “You’re okay,” he tells Stiles, “You’re just fine. Nothing is going to hurt you. This is a good forest. Here,” he guides Stiles over to a tree near the trail, raises his hand and presses his palm into the tree, covering Stiles’ hand with his own. “Listen to the forest,” he says softly.

It seems an impossibly tree-hugging, mystical thing for Derek to say, but he goes with it, lets his hand rest against the tree and breathes. He feels it then, a warmth in the center of his being that he hasn’t felt for a very long time. He thought it had died, but it’s there, that spark. He feels connected again, to the forest, to himself, to Derek. He feels like he must have werewolf senses for a moment, the way everything around him is suddenly loud and pumping with life.

When he looks at Derek, he’s looking back, eyes wide and sort of awe-struck. Derek’s tongue flicks out, wets the bottom of his lip and Stiles traces the movement with his eyes. Derek clears his throat and jerks his hand away from Stiles, pulling back. “You okay now?” Stiles nods and Derek looks totally shocked. Stiles gives him a silent what?

Derek smirks at him. “You just nodded your head, that doesn’t make you happy?” And Derek is misquoting The Princess Bride now, Stiles has clearly entered an alternate universe. “Come on, Westly,” Derek says, tugging at Stiles’ arm, “Let’s get back to the car.”

As you wish, Stiles thinks, and then blushes when he remembers what it means. Thankfully, Derek is striding on ahead and doesn’t catch it. Stiles jogs a little bit to catch up and then keeps in step with him. He doesn’t want to leave the forest now that it feels friendly. There’s something like light creeping into his bones, spreading out in waves that make his skin tingle. It’s pushing out the darkness, he realizes. He’s scared to hold onto the thought, scared that hope will only haunt him when the darkness returns, but the light keeps spreading and Stiles has to look down to make sure his feet are still touching the ground. He feels weightless.

When they get to the car, Derek turns and looks at him and then almost trips over his own feet, something that’s a daily occurrence for Stiles, but seems strange coming from Derek. “Wow. You look...you look good. Really good. You feeling better?”

Stiles nods, even though he somehow feels oddly shy about doing it.

Derek’s voice has a catch in it when he reaches out and pats Stiles on the back and says, “I’m really happy to hear that, Stiles.” They both stand awkwardly for a moment, not quite meeting each other’s eyes, and then Derek unlocks the car and they climb in.

**

Talia Hale believed in the power of their connection to the earth and the elements. It was one of her most closely held beliefs. She told Derek that she believed there was magic in it, that if you listened close enough, the earth would guide you. When she died, he lost what little faith he had. He told himself that whatever magic was in the earth had failed to save her. It took him many years to admit maybe it wasn’t that the earth had been silent, but that he hadn’t listened. Something had felt wrong deep in his bones every time he was with Kate, but he ignored it. He spent a lot of time angry, bulldozing his way through life, but recently he’s opened himself back up to his mother’s beliefs, allowed it to anchor him. It’s settled him more than he ever thought it could.

Somehow, it seems it is this listening that has brought him here with Stiles. One night he woke up and just knew that he needed to get Stiles out of Beacon Hills. It was a tug deep inside that he couldn’t get rid of. He didn’t have much hope that the Sheriff would allow him to take off with his barely legal son for an indeterminate amount of time to a mostly unknown destination, but shockingly, John agreed and here he is, on the road with Stiles in the passenger seat. Somehow, he thinks it would make his mom smile.

Still, he can’t explain what happened in the redwoods today. Thinking about it still gives him goosebumps. The energy around him and Stiles had been palpable, and then when he had turned and looked at Stiles right before they left, he was almost glowing. For a second, Derek thought he saw a halo of light around Stiles, but then he blinked and it was gone. But Stiles looks peaceful, for the first time in days, and he nodded, actually nodded in response to Derek’s question. Derek’s never been so happy for a head nod in his entire life. It makes him think maybe there is something bigger at work here. Whatever it is, he’s not messing with it because Stiles is sleeping and the lines on his face are smoothing out and Derek listens to the road burning up beneath his wheels and feels something like contentment.

He drives until about 9:00 that night, cutting back southeast for a while so he can catch highway 80 leading up through Idaho.. Stiles drifts in and out of sleep and eats the chicken sandwich Derek gets him at a drive through fast food joint for supper. He’s still less on edge than he was before. Spends most of his time staring out the window, but his eyes aren’t vacant like they were. He’s sleeping again when Derek pulls into a hotel for the night, but Derek makes sure to wake him before he goes in to check in. He’s still not sure how Stiles will react if he wakes up and Derek isn’t there. He pays for the room and is just about to leave when a rack full of paperbacks catches his eye. He feels a smile taking over his face and he plops one of the books down on the counter. “Carver Edlund,” the guy reads, “Never heard of him.” Derek just pays the money for the book and heads back to the car to collect Stiles and their bags.

The motel is nothing special. Two double beds with garish blankets, ugly green carpeting, a small TV mounted on the wall. Derek sits on the edge of the bed and grimaces. “I’ll get us something more comfortable tomorrow,” he promises Stiles. Stiles looks up from the bed across from Derek and gives a little shrug. Derek’s probably happier about that than he should be, but all he says is, “you can have the shower first.” Stiles gathers his things and disappears into the bathroom and Derek takes time settling in, flipping on the TV for some background noise, even though he’s not listening to what’s on really. He’s perched on the end of the bed, looking at a map when Stiles gets out of the shower. He smells like cheap soap and chlorinated water and something spicy and earthy that is just Stiles and Derek takes a deep breath, tries not to look too long at Stiles’ damp hair, the way his t-shirt is clinging to his skin where he didn’t dry quite well enough.

It takes him a little to find his voice and then he clears his throat, reaches behind him for the book. “I uh, got you something,” he says, handing the book to Stiles. Stiles looks at the cover for a long minute and Derek is afraid he did something wrong, but then Stiles meets his eyes and smiles. It’s a small smile, almost shy, but it makes Derek’s stomach do a flip, makes him happy that Stiles doesn’t have werewolf senses and can’t hear how fast his heart is beating. Stiles is moving past him though, goes and curls up on his bed and opens the book. It’s the first book in the Supernatural series that Stiles has been obsessed with as long as Derek has known him. He knows he has the whole set at home, but he didn’t think to grab any. From what the Sheriff said, Stiles hasn’t been reading anything lately. He vows to buy any others they have in the lobby when he checks out in the morning. They’re not exactly popular, he’s amazed they have them here. Who knows when he’ll see any again, and they seem to make Stiles happy.

Stiles is still reading when Derek gets out of the shower. He watches a little TV, but finds his eyes closing for longer and longer stretches, so he gives up and turns off the TV and the light on his side of the nightstand. He’s not quite asleep when Stiles turns off his own light and seems to settle for the night. He doesn’t know how much later it is when he wakes up to Stiles thrashing in his bed, mumbling under his breath. Finally he sits up and yells “I don’t know! Please, I don’t know!” It’s so startling to hear his voice that Derek is frozen for a moment, but then he realizes that Stiles’ heartbeat sounds like a freight train in his ears and he’s sobbing now, begging, “Please, please, I don’t know. Just let me go.”

Derek rolls out of bed and flips on the light. Stiles’ eyes are open but unseeing. Derek is careful not to touch him, but hopes his voice will help pull him back. “Stiles, you’re okay. You’re all right. Wake up.” It’s a few more moments before Stiles blinks and looks at him, his eyes wet with tears. He sits for a while, works on getting his breathing under control. “What can I do for you?” Derek asks him, “How can I help?” Stiles reaches over to the nightstand and gets the book, thumbing through it until he finds his place and thrusts it at Derek’s chest. “You want me to read to you?” He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Stiles just nods and scoots over on the bed, pats the space beside him.

Derek sits down beside Stiles and props himself against the headboard. He starts to read and he can hear Stiles’s heartbeat slowing. Sam and Dean are searching for their missing father, apparently. It feels strange to read aloud. He hasn’t done it since...since...it takes him a moment to realize his voice has gone gruff and tears are pricking his eyes. Stiles lays a hand on Derek’s leg to get his attention and when he looks at him he’s looking back with questioning eyes. “I haven’t read to anyone since... my cousins,” Derek says finally. Stiles nods in understanding and reaches for the book, letting Derek know he doesn’t have to read to him. “No, it’s fine. I want to,” Derek tells him, taking the book back. He reads for a long time until he realizes that Stiles is no longer awake and he himself can barely keep his eyes open.

He leaves the light on when he crawls into bed. Maybe it will help Stiles feel safer. When he closes his eyes he sees his cousin Lily, blue eyes pleading “Please read to me, Derek. Pleeeease?” He never could say no to her. Thinking of her in the fire feels like a knife to his gut and he pushes it out, focuses instead on remembering her alive, the way she used to curl up against him and sigh contentedly as he read. “I miss you,” he whispers into the quiet room.

**

In the morning they eat bagels and cold cereal in the lobby and drink the weak coffee that Kyle, the motel clerk on duty this morning, brews in a small pot, eyes bleary with sleep. Before they leave, Derek goes over to the book rack and scoops up all the Supernatural books he can find, four of them, and puts them on the counter. Kyle raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say much, just rings him up and wishes him and Stiles safe travels. Derek pushes the books into Stiles’s arms and Stiles smiles at him again, wider this time. When they get to the car Stiles puts the books in the back seat and runs his hands over them before climbing into the passenger’s seat.

It takes them most of a day to get into Idaho. Mostly they’re driving across the desolate desert of Nevada. It’s open and windy and barren and a little depressing, Derek is willing to admit. “It will get better once we get further into Idaho,” Derek tells Stiles at lunch. They’ve stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, dust blowing up around them and the few patrons staring at them as if they’ve come from a different planet. It gives Derek the willies. They eat cold sandwiches and chips in the car after Derek fuels up.

Like yesterday, it’s quiet in the car. Stiles sleeps a lot and Derek doesn’t say much, even when Stiles is awake. Derek turns on his ipod and listens to his more upbeat playlist, drums his fingers in time to the music and doesn’t realize he’s singing along until he catches Stiles staring at him in open-mouthed shock. “What,” he says, even as he feels himself blushing, “You never sing along to the radio?” Stiles gives a little snort and curls back up against the door, but Derek catches him looking from time to time, can feel his eyes on him the next time he starts humming absent-mindedly. He turns and looks at him and Stiles looks away quickly. “Shut up,” Derek tells him and Stiles gives a little sound that’s almost a laugh. It might be the best thing Derek has heard in weeks.

They’re just on the edge of the mountains when they stop for the night. It’s a small tourist town, log cabin style buildings and bears carved out of stumps, moose made out of iron, the typical decor in town of this sort. He takes Stiles to dinner in an actual restaurant, orders himself a large rare steak and Stiles a smaller one, medium well because he knows that’s how Stiles likes it. “You know it’s just wrong to eat a steak that well-cooked,” Derek says to Stiles as they dig in. Stiles looks at Derek’s plate of bloody meat and grimaces. Now that’s wrong his face says and Derek just barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

Derek keeps his promise of more comfortable accommodations for the night, not that he has much choice in a town like this anyway. “Deerfoot Lodge and Cabins,” is a large log house and accompanying cabins tucked in amongst the pine trees and Derek pays more than twice what he paid the night before. They’re assigned cabin number 8 which turns out to be as kitschy and cozy as Derek imagined...and has only a king-size bed. “Fuck. I swear I told that guy twice that I needed two beds.” Stiles just shrugs and sets his bag down on the bed. “You’re fine with sharing a bed?” Derek asks him incredulously, and Stiles just shrugs again, raises his eyebrows. You’re not? “I-” okay, his feelings for Stiles are complicated, always have been, and sharing a bed with him is not something Derek feels emotionally prepared for but Stiles doesn’t need to know that. Besides, the bed is huge. He can pretend Stiles isn’t even there. “Fine, just make sure you stay on your side of the bed,” Derek scowls at him. Stiles just gives him a look like he knows exactly what he’s thinking and smirks at him because apparently Stiles is now well enough to go back to being a little shit.

“I’m taking first shower,” Derek says, and doesn’t even bother to ask if Stiles needs to pee before he gathers his stuff and goes into the bathroom, leaning against the door with a frustrated sigh. Only he would be unlucky enough to be forced to share a bed with the guy that he’s sort of madly, desperately attracted to. You mean in love with, his brain unhelpfully supplies before Derek can clamp down on it. Sure, Stiles turned 18 a couple months ago, but Derek’s nearly 24 and he’s been fighting this feeling almost since the day he met Stiles, which makes him feel like some sort of creeper perv, even though Stiles has always been old for his years.

Derek takes what he refuses to call an angry shower and slips into his favorite pair of gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He looks at himself in the mirror and gives himself a stern talking to about the ridiculousness of his feelings and how sharing a bed doesn’t mean anything and stalks back out into the room. Stiles either doesn’t notice his mood or doesn’t care and goes to take his shower. Derek half wishes he could ask him not to because Stiles after a shower is something that makes Derek’s life difficult. It makes him want to push his nose up behind his ear and smell him, scrub his fingers through his damp hair until Stiles bares his throat to him. And now because apparently the universe, which Derek was only just beginning to trust somewhat, has decided to royally screw him over, he’s going to have to share a bed with him.

When Stiles gets out of the shower, Derek decides to very studiously study the atlas, even though he knows where they’re going. Stiles flips on the TV and shuffles through channels until Derek gives him a pointed sigh and he settles on some stupid hospital drama that centers around a doctor who is, okay, admittedly pretty hot, what with the long dark hair and the cowboy boots and everything. “Oh my God, the show is actually called Dr. Sexy, M.D?” Derek says, burying his face in his hands. Stiles makes that almost laugh noise again and shoves at Derek’s shoulder. “Worst travel companion ever,” Derek lies.

When the show is done, Stiles flips off the TV and rummages through his bag, coming back up with his Supernatural book in hand. He holds it out to Derek. “You want a bedtime story?” Derek asks. Stiles rolls his eyes but nods anyway, so Derek folds up the map and crawls under the covers, settling himself back on a pile of pillows. Stiles is curled onto his side, half propped up on his own stack of pillows and Derek tries to ignore the way he can feel Stiles watching him as he reads. “These books are really badly written,” he interrupts himself about a half hour into reading. Stiles just nods and grins and Derek keeps reading until Stiles’ eyes stay closed and his breaths tell Derek he’s asleep.

Derek doesn’t allow himself to look at Stiles for long. It’s not safe, not with the way Stiles’ long lashes are laying softly against his flushed cheeks, his lips parted. He flips off the light quickly and curls up with his back to Stiles, thinks about anything except who’s sleeping next to him as he falls asleep.

**

There’s early morning light filtering in through the windows when Stiles wakes up. It’s the first time he’s slept through the night in longer than he can remember. This bed is definitely more comfortable than the one from their first night, and he feels cozy under the heavy duvet. It’s a couple minutes before he wakes up enough to realize that his hand is moving up and down slightly without any help from him and a few seconds more to realize it’s because it’s resting on Derek’s stomach. Technically he’s still mostly on his side of the bed, but his arm is flung across the space between them and Derek is hot like a furnace beneath his hand.

He pulls his hand back like he’s been burned, then instantly misses the connection. Derek is still sleeping, his mouth parted on gentle snores and his hair messy against the pillow. It’s been a long time since Stiles has felt a strong emotion that isn’t fear. He hasn’t even allowed himself to be angry, afraid the darkness will consume him again, but looking at Derek he feels something like overwhelming affection. It’s startling. Sure, he spent the first year or so he knew Derek lusting after him. His body is killer and Stiles apparently has a thing for hot guys pushing him up against hard surfaces, so sue him. For a while before the nematon took over all their lives, they were even friends maybe, but this is different. This is something that settles warm in the core of his being, something that makes him want to reach out and touch Derek in a way that isn’t just sexual, in a way that marks him as Stiles’s, that lets Stiles keep him forever. He reaches out his hand again and puts it near Derek. Not quite touching because he’s not into violating people in their sleep, but close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off his side. He sighs and closes his eyes again.

He wakes up to Derek coming back into the cabin. “I went to the lodge to get us some breakfast. You looked like you could use some more sleep.” Stiles sits up and rubs his eyes, stretches lazily. He catches Derek looking at him, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. Stiles pulls his fingers up through his hair and Derek’s grin turns into a full-on smile. “We really should do something about that mess on top of your head.” Stiles has still been studiously avoiding mirrors. Maybe he should remedy that. He gets out of bed and crosses the room to where he knows there’s a mirror over the table in the corner, knees shaky.

His hands are trembling on the back of the chair where he holds himself up in front of the mirror and he has to take a few deep breathes before raising his eyes. It’s just him looking back. There’s no dark circles around his eyes anymore, nobody else looking back at him. His hair is ridiculous, it really is. He feels kind of silly that he’s been walking around like this. It’s sort of spiky still in places, but mostly it’s long and flopped over and messy and doesn’t feel like him at all. Yeah, they’re going to have to fix that for sure.

Derek gives him his moment, and when Stiles turns around, he’s got their breakfast sitting out, offers Stiles a choice of milk or orange juice and doesn’t say anything else. There are times Stiles is grateful that Derek doesn’t talk more, even though he now knows that he’s capable of saying quite a bit when he wants to.

It’s late morning when they finally check out and hit the road again. The roads get twistier, the mountains taller. Sometime after lunch they hit a long stretch of road where the mountains tower on either side of them, the road twisting between, following a river. At first it’s pretty, but after an hour or so, Stiles starts to feel trapped. There’s something about it, the way the mountains are right there, the trees towering with no end in sight. It starts to feel oppressive and Stiles wriggles in his seat. He needs to get out of the car for a minute. He can’t breathe. He can see a gravel parking area along the river up ahead and suddenly he’s clutching Derek’s arm. “Pull over,” he tells him, “Pull over. I need to get out,” and Derek visibly jumps, but manages to swing the car over in time.

He scrambles out of the car the second it has stopped, falling to his knees in the gravel. It’s like a dam has opened up inside of him and he’s crying so hard it hurts. Derek is on his knees in front of him, one hand resting on his shoulder. “I killed them,” Stiles tells him, “I killed so many people. I watched them die and I couldn’t feel anything. I let A-A-Allison die,” he chokes out. “I killed her.”

Derek puts both hands on his shoulders then, holds Stiles up. “Listen to me, you didn’t kill anyone. That thing did. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“But it got in me. Why me? There m-must me s-something wrong with m-me. I let it in.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Stiles, nothing. You sacrificed yourself to save your dad and your friends and it let something dark into you. You did good. You are good. You are the best person I know.”

Stiles can do nothing but cry for a long time, the gravel digging into his knees. Derek stays with him, eventually pulling him against his chest and letting him cry on his shoulder. After a while Derek tugs at him, helps him get to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of this God-forsaken valley.” He ends up half carrying Stiles to the car and carefully placing him in the passenger seat.

Stiles feels like he’s being a giant baby, but he can’t seem to move his limbs properly. Derek gets in the driver’s seat and leans over to buckle Stiles in, unrolls the window a little so the cool mountain air drifts across his hair. Then he’s draping something heavy across Stiles, tucking him in like a child, and he realizes it’s Derek’s leather jacket. He buries his nose in it and takes in the smell of leather and Derek. He makes sure it stays up around his nose as he leans against the door and closes his eyes. If Derek notices, he doesn’t say anything, just pulls back onto the road.

They’re out of the valley when Stiles wakes up. He yawns and stretches, Derek’s jacket falling to his waist. “Hey,” he says, his voice rough from crying and disuse.

“Hey,” Derek says back, grinning. “I wasn’t sure if talking was going to be something you do now.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Good.” He sounds like he means it.

“Who would have thought you would be happy to have me talking,” Stiles says, and Derek actually laughs.

“Give it time. I’m sure I’ll be back to telling you to shut up soon.” Stiles punches him for that, but he can’t stop smiling. “You’re okay though?” Derek asks seriously.

“I’m okay as I’m going to be right now, I think, if that make any sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles thinks about everything Derek has gone through and thinks if anyone understands, it’s him.

“We’re still in Idaho?”

“Yup. I don’t think we’ll make Montana until tomorrow.”

“Mmm. I’ve always wanted to see Montana. Think you can lasso me a cowgirl, or maybe a hot cowboy?” Derek shoots him a look. “Already regretting me talking, huh?”

“Surprisingly, no. I was actually starting to go a little crazy without anyone to talk to.”

“Oh honey,” Stiles says sweetly, “You’ve always been a little crazy.” Derek, shockingly, doesn’t even bother to glare, in fact, there seems to be a little bit of red creeping up the side of his neck and Stiles stares at it in fascination. Huh.

“Derek shifts a little in his seat and this time he does scowl. “What?”

“Oh, nothing to worry your little head about, dear,” Stiles says. The joking endearment is an experiment and yup, sure enough, Derek’s ear starts turning red now. Very interesting. Stiles hasn’t thought about “normal” things for a long time now, so he’s not big on trusting his instincts at the moment, but it seems like Derek is maybe, sort of...nah. No way.

“So, uh, you ready to eat lunch? There’s been a couple signs for a town not far from here. Not sure when the next will be,” Derek says.

“I could eat,” and yeah, his appetite is definitely coming back. It feels strange to enjoy the idea of food.

“Okay, we’ll stop then. Shouldn’t be long now.” Derek turns up the music a bit, hums along to Mumford and Sons.

“Hey!” Stiles says, remembering, “Hey, you sing. I heard you singing yesterday!”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know why this is so astounding to you.”

Stiles splutters a little. “C’mon you’re...you’re you! You brood. You throw people around. You use windows instead of doors. You’re not supposed to sing like a freakin’ angel. And that’s another thing,” He says, pointing at Derek’s face as he blushes again, “What’s with the blushing? Since when does Derek Hale blush? My God, it’s like nothing in the world makes sense anymore.”

“I guess you don’t know as much about me as you thought. Now stop making fun of me or I’m going to rip your throat out... with my teeth. Does that make more sense to you?”

“Yes, thank you. There’s the sourwolf we all know and love.”

“I swear to God, Stiles…” Derek says, shaking his head, but he’s not doing a very good job of being angry so Stiles just laughs. It feels like it’s been years since he’s laughed.

They make it to the next town in less than an hour and the place they eat actually has curly fries. “Curly fries, Derek,” Stiles moans, “Oh my God, I think this might be heaven.”

“I’m just glad you can finally order your own food. You should have seen some of the looks I got ordering for you.”

“Aw, my poor baby,” and yes, Stiles is definitely going to work more of honey, baby, darling, love into his conversations with Derek because his reactions are too precious. “You did a good job though.”

“Whatever. Eat your damn fries.”

Oh yes, the curly fries. Stiles happily digs in. It’s impossible not to moan around his bites like a porn star. They’re just that good. It’s not until he’s licking off his fingers that he looks up and sees Derek staring at him, mouth hanging open slightly. He’s barely touched his food. “Oh dude, sorry,” Stiles apologizes, “My table manners are sucky when I’m having a food orgasm.”

Derek is in the middle of taking a drink and he actually chokes on it. “You’re impossible,” he tells Stiles when he’s done coughing.

“Impossibly cute? Impossibly charming? Impossibly delightful? Why yes, I am impossible.” Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath like he’s trying to reconcile the fact that this is his life now, and then he finally starts eating his own food. Stiles thinks maybe he should feel bad, but then Derek looks across the table at him and he doesn’t look upset. He looks kind of happy, actually. So Stiles doesn’t bother feeling bad. He has enough things to feel bad about.

It’s nice, being on the road with Derek. They still don’t talk that much. Stiles’s voice gets raspy if he talks for long. It’s been out of use for too many weeks. The silence isn’t uncomfortable though. Stiles has a lot to think about, but mostly he thinks about Derek. Derek’s right, there’s a lot Stiles doesn’t know about him, but he knows a lot more than he did. He thinks back to everything Derek told him, lying on his bed back in Beacon Hills, tries to remember the details again so he can hold onto them.

Like a detective, he thinks about the other things he’s picked up. Derek likes to sing. Derek eats chicken almost as much as he eats beef. He’s good at reading out loud. He drives fast, but not recklessly. He believes that forests can be “friendly.” He’s more gentle than Stiles ever gave him credit for. He’s good at getting Stiles through nightmares and panic attacks.

“You’re a really good guy,” Stiles says out loud before he can catch himself. It’s getting dark and they’ll probably stop for the night at the next decent-sized town they get to. Derek’s eyebrows pull together.

“I’m really not.”

“You really, really are,” Stiles says. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the need to have Derek know this. “You do dumb stuff and make bad decisions sometimes, just like the rest of us, but you’re always trying to do the right thing. You’re always trying to take care of your pack.”

“I- thank you,” Derek says finally. He’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles are white, Stiles notices.

“No problem, big guy,” Stiles says, and nobody is more surprised by the affection in his tone than he is, although judging by his expression, Derek is pretty surprised too.

The hotel they stay at isn’t fancy, but it’s nice. Stiles notices that Derek makes sure the beds are soft now. For some reason that amuses him, Derek caring about things like soft beds. “You want first shower?” Derek asks him.

“Nah, you go ahead. I thought maybe I could call my dad?”

“He’d like that. I have your phone but I haven’t been keeping it charged, you can use mine,” Derek says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Stiles.

“Thanks.” He takes the phone and a room key and steps out the door. It doesn’t make sense, but he’s nervous about calling his dad. He dials the number by heart anyway.

His dad must be off tonight because he answers on the first ring. “Derek? Everything okay?”

“Hi, Dad,” Stiles answers quietly.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s good to hear your voice son,” his dad says, and it’s the crack in his voice at the end that does Stiles in. He has to use his sleeve to wipe up tears, sniffing into the phone. “Stiles, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He sounds worried and Stiles rushes to reassure him.

“No, no, I’m good dad. I promise.”

“Good. Good. And you’re talking now. When did that happen?”

“Today.”

“That’s great, Stiles. Derek is being good to you?”

“Yeah, Dad, he’s...he’s actually pretty amazing.”

“Amazing, huh?” He doesn’t want to acknowledge the tone in his dad’s voice. It reminds him too much of the tone he used to use when Stiles talked about Lydia Martin, like he’s teasing, trying to figure out what Stiles is feeling, what the relationship is. It makes his face feel hot, even though he’s actually shivering in the cold night air.

“He’s a good friend,” he says quickly.

“Well, it’s good to know I didn’t make a mistake letting him take you away.”

“No. You made the right choice. I needed to get out of there for a while. Not because of you or anyone else you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know kid. Know when you’re coming back?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think for a while yet, if that’s ok. I can’t go back yet.”

“Do whatever you need to do to get better. I’ll be here when you need me.”

“I always need you, Dad,” Stiles says, and he’s crying again.

His dad lets him cry in his ear for a while. “I love you, son. Take care of yourself. Make sure Hale takes care of you too.”

“I love you too, Dad, and I will.”

Derek is stretched out his bed watching TV when Stiles comes back into the room. His eyes move to Stiles briefly and he doesn’t acknowledge his wet cheeks and red eyes just says, “You shouldn’t be out there without a coat on.”

“Figured that out on my own,” Stiles says, shivering. He grabs his bag and heads for the shower. In the hot shower he cries silently for a long time, tears falling down to mix with water on his skin. He cries for Allison. He cries for himself. He cries for Scott and his Dad and everyone else he loves who lost so much. It hurts, but it feels good too.

When he’s finally done, he gets out and digs to the bottom of his bag and finds the soft flannel pajama bottoms that Derek packed for him. Scott had them custom made for Stiles’s 15th birthday and they’re covered with angel sigils with a handprint on the butt because “Cas hauled you out of hell by your ass.” Thankfully, Scott had gotten them too large, which is perfect because now they still hang nice and loose on his larger frame. He pulls on a soft red t-shirt and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself.

“What are you wearing?” Derek says when Stiles bends down to search through his bag again.

“You packed them.”

“There’s a handprint on your butt.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. I’m aware. That’s where my boyfriend Cas gripped me tight and raised me from perdition.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you actually speak English,” Derek tells him.

“Sometimes I think you don’t understand English,” Stiles shoots back. “Also, we’re skipping ahead once you’re done reading  the first book to me, then you’ll know what I’m talking about. Plus, Cas!” he says, like that explains everything.

“I don’t understand anything you just said,” Derek mutters.

“You will, babe,” Stiles says, handing him the book.

Derek rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest when Stiles climbs onto the bed beside him, just opens the book to where they stopped the night before and starts reading.

The room is dark when Stiles wakes with a start, heart pounding hard in his chest. It’s difficult to orient himself in the darkness until he sees two eyes glowing red beside him and realizes he fell asleep on Derek’s bed, still on top of the covers. Derek’s eyes go dark quickly and he flips on the light. “You okay?” He asks.

“Just another nightmare. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You okay to go back to sleep? You want me to read?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” Stiles forces himself to get up and crawl into his own bed, even though when the light goes back off, he wishes Derek was beside him. He lays down as close to the edge of the bed as he can and lets his eyes adjust so he can see the broad line of Derek’s back across the space between them. It makes him feel a little better and he falls back asleep.

**

There are moments, seconds only really, when Derek wishes Stiles hadn’t started talking. He feels awful the moment he thinks it, but seriously, Stiles gives him little choice. He’s started calling Derek honey and babe and all sorts of other pet names. Always with teasing in his voice, but with something else too. It’s driving Derek crazy. And then there was that incident with curly fries. All I’m trying to do is be a good person and a good friend, he tells the universe, why are you punishing me?

“Hmm?” Stiles says beside him. Oops, some of that might have been out loud.

“Nothing.” Stiles actually lets it drop, which surprises him, but he’s been quiet today anyway. He decides not to ask Stiles if he’s okay until lunch when Stiles is picking at his food silently, brows furrowed together. “What’s going on with you today?”

Stiles’ breath goes out in a woosh. “I was supposed to graduate this weekend. I always had really good grades you know, even with all my focusing problems. I was going to go to a good college. Maybe Stanford or NYU, I dunno. I had options. Lots of options. I was gonna’ make my dad proud. Now he doesn’t even get to watch me graduate freakin’ high school, man.”

There’s a lot Derek could say, a lot he wants to say, but instead he just says, “We’re going to go get you a haircut when we’re done here.”

“Huh?” Stiles says, mouth dropping open.

He gives Stiles an obnoxious smile. “Just because you’re a high school drop-out doesn’t mean you have to look like a bum.”

“You’re a dick,” Stiles says, but it works. He’s got a spark back in his eyes and he smiles, even as he wipes a tear out of his eye with his shirtsleeve.

They end up going to a mall and wandering around until they find a place that takes walk-ins. “Does your boyfriend want to come back and sit with you?” The cute little blonde asks Stiles.

“I’m not-” Derek starts.

Stiles cuts him off. “Yeah, that would be great.”

So he ends up watching the girl cuts Stiles’s hair and ask him where he’s from and what he’s doing here while Stiles feeds her a load of bullshit, even lies about stuff he doesn’t have to. They’re from Las Vegas. Derek manages a casino. They’ve been camping for the past two weeks, but are now heading to a friend’s wedding and that’s why he’s getting the haircut. He winks at Derek when the girl can’t see him, and he seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

“How long have you two been together?”

“Two years,” Stiles answers glibly, and then tells a long story in which Derek thought Stiles’s friend Scott was counting cards and tried to have them thrown out even while Stiles explained that Scott was failing half his classes, he’s not smart enough to count cards, etc. “And the rest is history, right babe?” Stiles says, shooting a wide smile at Derek.

I hate you, Derek mouths back.

The girl sends them on their way when they’re done and tells them to “have fun at the wedding!”

“We will,” Stiles assures her. He almost falls over laughing once they’re out the door. “Oh my god, your face!” He says between huffs of laughter, “I haven’t had that much fun in forever.”

“I’m glad you had fun,” he says, but it comes out more sincere than grumpy like he meant it to be.

“Hey,” Stiles says, spotting a sporting goods store, “ We should actually go camping.”

“Stiles, it’s early June in Montana. We’ll freeze.”

“Everyone on the radio keeps talking about how unusually warm it is this year. We’ll be fine. Please Derek. C’mon. Buy us a tent and some sleeping bags. I wanna go camping. Please honey muffin?” He looks up at Derek and flutters his eyelashes at him.

“Oh my god,” Derek says, ignoring the flip his stomach does, “Will you promise never to call me honey muffin again if I take you camping?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, schmoopy.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Of course he’s right, which is why Derek allows him to pull him into the store and talk him into a tent and two sleeping bags for way more money than he should probably spend, but Stiles is right, he can afford it.

They pass through Libby and drive along Lake Koocanusa for miles. It’s late in the evening when they stop in Rexford. There’s nothing open anywhere so they loop around for a while until Stiles says “We can eat jerky for supper. I got a bag at that gas station yesterday. Let’s camp by the lake.”

They drive around some more until they find a parking space near the water and walk down onto the sand. Stiles sets up the tent while Derek builds a campfire. It’s already plenty chilly and Stiles hunches up by the fire in his sweatshirt. They eat jerky in silence and listen to the sounds of the night around them. It’s incredibly quiet, just the crack of the fire, the gentle waves of the reservoir lapping up against the sand. Stiles’s amber eyes look even warmer and more luminous in the light of the fire and Derek’s having a hard time not staring at him. “Be right back,” he says finally, jumping up. He jogs to the car and gets the book out of the back seat where Stiles dropped it after almost forgetting it at the hotel yesterday.

He holds it up when he gets back and Stiles smiles, scoots closer to Derek on the log as they sit down. “I can hold a flashlight for you or something if you want,” he offers to Derek.

“I’ve got my own,” he says, flashing his eyes at Stiles.

“Show-off,” Stiles says, sticking out his tongue, but he doesn’t move away. Derek can feels the knuckles of Stiles’s hand against his thigh and tries to ignore it as he reads. He reads for a long time, neither of them being tired, and they’ll be done with the book before long at this rate. Stiles inserts his thoughts from time to time. Laughs when Derek blushes reading about Dean getting lucky. Complains about what a terrible father John is. It’s nice. When Derek’s voice gets too tired from reading, they sit in silence for a long time, watching the coals spark and sputter in the dying fire.

“C’mon big guy, let’s go to bed,” Stiles says finally, tugging at Derek’s sleeve. Derek puts out the fire and follows Stiles into the tent where their sleeping bags are laid out side by side. Stiles crawls into his sleeping bag and wriggles around before tossing his jeans out the top. Derek does the same a few minutes later and lies staring through the mesh at the top of the tent, listening to Stiles try to fall asleep beside him.

He hasn’t been sleeping for long when Stiles wakes him up. “Holy fuck, I’m turning into an icicle.”

Because he’s not above saying I told you so, Derek says “I told you you’d freeze.”

“No, you said we’d freeze, and you lied, because you’re just fine, aren’t you?” Stiles fumbles over in the dark and manages to lay a hand on Derek’s neck, his hand icy cold against hot skin. “Mmm, like a wolfy furnace,” he says, putting his other hand on Derek too.

Derek pushes his hands off him, “Get off me! You’re the one who wanted to go camping.”

“And you’re the one who’s letting me freeze to death. Get up. Get out of your sleeping bag. We’re zipping these fuckers together.”

“Huh? No way.”

“It’s either that or I crawl into yours with you, and it’s going to be a tight fit, just sayin’.”

“Ugh. You are impossible.”

“So you’ve said.”

Derek wants to fight him on it, but he knows he won’t win anyway, and he can hear Stiles’s teeth chattering. It doesn’t seem fair to let him freeze all night. “Fine. No cuddling.”

“Oh, there will be cuddling,” Stiles promises darkly. “I’m going to cuddle the fuck out of you and you’re going to like it.”

The annoying thing is that Derek knows he will.

They bump heads a few times and there’s a lot of swearing but they manage to get their bags spread out and zipped together into one giant sleeping bag. Derek gets in first and Stiles scrambles in after him, immediately pushing himself against Derek’s side. “Stiles! What the hell?” Derek chokes out.

“Dude, I am too cold for shame right now,” Stiles says. “Now shut up and let me cuddle you.”

It’s not exactly comfortable, what with Stiles’s feet and hands pushing up against Derek like ice blocks on his skin, but eventually Stiles stops shivering and his limbs get warm and he promptly falls asleep on Derek. Literally. His nose is pushed into Derek’s shoulder and his thigh is resting over Derek’s and his arm is heavy and hot over his chest. He smells like salon shampoo and campfire smoke and Derek can’t decide if this is the best thing that has ever happened to him or the worst. He still hasn’t decided when he falls asleep.

**

It’s the little whimpers that wake him at first- small, hurt noises pressed into his skin where Stiles’s face is mashed up against his chest. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he can see the sky has lightened and it must be getting on morning. Before he can think about it, he’s running a hand up and down Stiles’s back, trying to sooth him.

Stiles starts to move more violently, pushing away. He sits up, eyes wide and glassy and unseeing. “Please,” he says, “Please.” His voice is so small and broken and tears start streaming down his face.

Derek feels tears welling up in his own eyes at the sight, reaches his hand out and cups Stiles’s cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth along his cheekbone. “Stiles, you’re okay. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up. You’re okay.”

It’s a few more moments before Stiles’s eyes go clear and he looks at Derek for real. “Fuck,” he says, and he still sounds broken. Derek drops his hand and lets Stiles get his bearings again. He watches as Stiles slumps, runs his fingers through his hair and swears again. He pulls his t-shirt up and wipes the tears off his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For waking you up. For being a mess. For all the shit I put everyone through all the time.”

“Stiles, you don’t have anything to be ashamed of. You’ve seen more than anybody should have to see. You’ve been through a lot and you’re doing the best you can.”

“When did Derek Hale become the guy who could talk me down from a ledge?” Stiles says, almost to himself. His eyes flash up to Derek’s face for a second before they drop back down, hands twisting nervously in his lap. “I thought I knew you, but I didn’t know you at all. None of us did. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t understand why the words make his chest hurt, why he wants to grab onto them and not let go. Instead he shrugs. “I was a jerk.”

“In the beginning? Yeah, kind of. I still...I still liked you though,” Stiles is still staring determinedly down at his hands, “I mean, you know, after a while. I thought I knew you. I thought I had some kind of inside track to Derek Hale, but I didn’t know you at all. You’re so much more than I knew. You brought me back. You saved me. You saved me.” He reaches out and puts his hand over Derek’s where it’s resting on his knee, eyes finally meeting his, damp with tears again.

Stiles is so close. His hand is warm and steady over Derek’s, and it would take so little to lean forward and press his lips against Stiles’s. Stiles smells like morning breath and sweat and tears, but he smells like Stiles and it’s filling up his senses, making him think things he hasn’t let himself think about too often. He wants to press Stiles back against the sleeping back and kiss him, suck marks into his neck and tell him that Stiles saved him too. It’s almost completely silent in the tent and Derek can’t make his mouth form words. His voice is rough when he tries to speak and all that comes out is “You- I…” before he trails off, at a loss.

Stiles’s mouth quirks up at the corner and the look he gives Derek is so fond it makes his stomach flutter. He reaches out and brushes a finger down the side of Derek’s face, a barely there touch before he’s pulling away. “I’m starving. Let’s pack up and go find some grub, shall we?”

Derek just nods, still wordless for the moment. They pack up quickly, take turns pissing in the woods and head back out towards the main road less than 20 minutes later. It takes them less time than that to find the picturesque town of Eureka. They’re almost driving out of it before they realize they’re in it, businesses scattered along a long wide main street that only lasts for a couple miles at most.

“Oooh, Cafe!” Stiles says excitedly, and Derek pulls over. The cafe is bustling this time of the morning. Everyone seems to know everyone else, talking from table to table, shouting greetings across the room. They all stare blatantly at Derek and Stiles as they walk in, in that way folks from small towns tend to do. Strangers stand out in places like this. They manage to find a table just big enough for two up against a wall and seat themselves like the sign says to. “This is kind of cool,” Stiles says over the din. Derek takes in their surroundings and nods. The ledge around the room is lined with old yearbooks and black and white pictures of people who graduated a long time ago. There’s a marker at each table inviting people to write and the walls are covered with signatures and quotes, hearts with initials inside.

Frankly, the service at the cafe is pretty awful and it takes them forever to get their food, but it’s worth the wait. Derek’s got a platter full of french toast and sausage and eggs that looks and smells amazing. Stiles gets a plate of pancakes and bacon and breakfast potatoes, all of which he promptly douses in liberal amounts of syrup before digging in with a happy sigh. It takes Derek a few second to drag his eyes away from Stiles’s mouth wrapped around his fork.

It’s been too long since they’ve had a real meal and they both eat everything on their plates in record time. It’s a mystery to Derek how Stiles manages to eat like that and stay so skinny. Derek’s about to get up and settle their bill when Stiles says “Oh, wait, wait. I gotta’ write on the wall.” Derek rolls his eyes but sits back down, waving Stiles on. Stiles has to reach up to find a clean spot on the wall. His shirt rides up and gives Derek a perfect view of his happy trail and the dip of his hip bone. He’s so distracted by it that he almost forgets to see what Stiles wrote, but Stiles is looking far too smug and there’s an old man in the booth next to them giving him the stink-eye, so he turns and looks. He finds Stiles’s small somewhat sloppy handwriting on the wall:  Derek + Stiles were here. It takes him longer than it should to find it because the words are inside something he hadn’t expected- a heart.

**

Stiles isn’t sure what he expected Derek’s reaction to his “art work” to be, but it wasn’t for Derek to stand and look at it far longer than necessary, hands braced on the table top. He doesn’t say anything when he turns away, just looks at Stiles and then at the old man glaring at them and the corners of his mouth pull up the slightest bit in a way that makes him look almost pleased. And what does that mean? He stumbles over a chair on his way across the cafe to follow Derek to the register. His mind is too busy to worry about inconsequential things like walking. He knows he’s drawing stares, but he can’t worry about that either.

It doesn’t take long for the town to slip away, the road winding up through tall pines, mountains rising majestically behind them. It’s beautiful, but Stiles isn’t thinking about it too much. What is he doing with Derek? What really? It started out as a joke, the pet names, pretending they’re together. It reminded him of the old days before...before. Riling Derek up is second nature. It’s a sense of normalcy that Stiles craves. Yet try as he might, he can’t deny that it’s also an outlet for his feelings, a way to express himself that feels safe. He’s afraid if he allows himself to feel anything too deeply, the darkness will rise up again and choke him. Keeping things light feels safer, even if the moment in the tent this morning was definitely skirting the edges of something deeper.

There’s a part of him that wonders if he’s allowed to have this easy camaraderie, this gentle teasing that might be something more. Does he deserve to even have the possibility of Derek? It feels so right that it must be wrong. He doesn’t trust his instincts anymore. But he wants this. He wants it with every fiber of his being. He loves watching the red blush creep up Derek’s neck when he teases him. He loves the way Derek tries to look mad at him sometimes and fails miserably. He loves when Derek laughs. He loves the way Derek’s eyes rest on him just a few beats too long, the way they sometimes brush down Stiles’s body like he can’t help himself. He loves…”Holy shit!”

The wheel jerks under Derek’s hands and he looks at Stiles with alarm. “What is it?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just- do we still have cell service here?” It’s been spotty at best in these parts.

“Looks like it,” Derek answers, checking his phone. He pulls over to the side of the road so he can turn and look at Stiles. “What’s going on with you.”

“I need to talk to Scott.”

“You need to talk to Scott. Right now.”

“Yes. And I need you to not be able to hear. Please?”

Derek’s brow furrows and he looks just a little suspicious, but he nods. “Okay, yeah. It looks like there’s a picnic area across the lake there. You can make your phone call and I’ll go for a run. Will that work?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He knows he’s being a pain in the ass, but there are some things that can’t wait. There are some things you have to talk about with your best friend or risk exploding, even though your best friend is probably going to think you’re an idiot.

When they finally park, Stiles jumps out of the car and heads straight for the dock stretching out onto the lake. Derek follows him and watches as Stiles checks to make sure he still has bars, slightly worried look still on his face. “Hey, no,” Stiles tells him, laying a hand on his arm before he can even stop himself. “It’s nothing bad, Derek, I swear. I’m okay. I just really need to talk to Scott right now, all right?”

Derek nods, even though he still doesn’t look like he quite believes him. “Wait a couple minutes and I'll be out of hearing range. Half an hour good?”

“Perfect. Thanks again.” Derek just bobs his head and takes off at a fast jog, disappearing into the trees. Stiles waits the requisite couple minutes and then dials Scott’s number.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice sounds muffled and sleepy and Stiles remembers that oh yeah, it’s still pretty early here, and even earlier in California. Oops.

“Dude, I think I’m in love with Derek.”

“You’re what?” Scott squeaks. Yup, that woke him up. And it’s probably not what he should have led with, especially since he’s only talked to Scott outside of texting once in the past seven weeks, but he can’t help it. He’s going to buzz out of his skin if he doesn’t talk to someone about this.

“I’m in love with Derek.” Stiles says more firmly.

“You’re in love with Derek. With Derek? Our Derek? Derek Hale?”

Stiles can’t help the stupid smile spreading across his face. “The one and only. And I think he might be kind of in love with me too?”

“Well duh,” Scott says, “Everyone knows that.” And you could knock Stiles over with a feather right now.

“What?” He finally manages to stutter out.

“Lydia figured it out first of course, but once she pointed it out, we couldn’t not see it. Dude is so gone on you, but I never thought you’d return it. I mean, it’s Derek.” Like that explains everything.

“I’m in love with him. I love him.” He wonders if the awe he feels in saying it is translating over the phone line.

“Why?” Scott whines.

“So many reasons. You’re just going to have to trust me on this, he’s a good guy. We fit, you know? And I’ll bet you a hundred bucks Lydia told you I’m gone on him too, only thing is I didn’t know it.”

“Yeah, she did,” Scott admits, “Just...dude, it’s Derek.”

“You keep saying that. I know who he is, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. This is just a lot to take in.”

“I know. I just had to tell someone, and you’re the only someone I wanted to tell.”

There’s a long pause and then, “So you’re in love with Derek, huh? Like ooey, gooey, ten year plan, light of my life kind of a thing?”

Stiles grins. “Yeah. That kind of a thing. Except I don’t think I need a ten year plan. After all, he’s already in love with me, according to you. And it’s not- I don’t know, it just is what it is. I’m okay with just letting it be for now.”

“You’re not going to tell him?”

“Nah. I mean, I think I kind of already am, but...yeah. It’s hard to explain.”

Scott snorts. “Obviously. You know I’m happy for you, right? I mean, I don’t get it, but if Derek makes you happy, then I’m happy. You deserve to feel good after...after everything.”

“Thanks. For everything.” His throat is closing up around on the words and the phone line goes silent. If it was anyone else, he’d think the call had died, but it’s Scott and they understand each other, so a long silence isn’t uncomfortable. Actually, it feels good and he relaxes into it enough to where he’s almost startled when Scott finally speaks.

“Any time, man.”

They don’t talk much longer, Scott’s still sleepy and Stiles is too full of everything to say much of anything. He end the call and sits cross-legged on the dock. He’s relaxed enough now to take in his surroundings. The lake is the most beautiful lake he’s ever seen. Crystal clear as far out as he can see, and as blue as the sky. The mountains are rising up all around it and it’s so quiet Stiles can hear every breath he lets in and out. He follows his breath down to that spark in the center of his being, feels it reach out around him, taking everything in with him. It’s starting to jump and crackle in ways he hasn’t felt before and he’s so mesmerized by it that he doesn’t even notice Derek folding himself down onto the dock beside him until the spark leaps out and Derek startles beside him.

“You’re glowing again,” Derek says, and it so quiet Stiles thinks he would have missed it except the spark has heightened all his senses.

“Mhmm,” He murmurs back, unwilling to do anything too sudden or loud. He scoots around carefully on his butt until he’s facing Derek. Ever so slowly he reaches his hand out and rests it on Derek’s knee.. As soon as he makes contact, the spark reaches out and takes hold, sending shooting light that Stiles feels rather than sees and suddenly Derek is glowing too, just a faint yellow light barely visible against the background of trees. “Woah.”

“What?” Derek asks. His voice is still hardly more than a whisper.

“You’re glowing too.”

Derek looks torn between fear and contentment, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Stiles watches as the light around Derek become brighter, the lines in his face smoothing out. He takes in Derek’s features, the cut of his jaw and the fan of his eyelashes across his cheek, and he thinks I love you.

Derek jumps like he’s been shot, eyes snapping open. Stiles’s hand jerks and the golden glow fades, everything coming back into focus, moment gone. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything! Hand to God, Derek. Why, what did you hear?” Stiles fights back a blush because there’s no way, right? There’s no way Derek heard his thoughts.

“I just- nothing. I’m sure it was nothing.”

“We should probably go, huh?”

“Yeah,” Derek offers a small smile and helps Stiles to his feet.

They’ve been back in the car for ten minutes before Derek finally speaks again. “So what, uh, what is that, do you think?”

“The whole glowing thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But it feels right, you know? It doesn’t feel like a bad thing. It helped me. It helped me be able to talk.”

“When it happened in the redwoods?”

“Yeah. Like, it opened something, and then I had my meltdown which sucked, but it was good too. I think the spark or whatever started that. It kind of reminded me that there’s light in me too. I know that sounds cheesy, but it helped.”

“It’s not cheesy. And back there on the dock? What was that? You made me glow too.”

“Dude, I’m as surprised as you. I have no idea. This is all new to me too. Your guess is as good as mine. Did you feel anything?”

“Yeah? Kind of hard to describe, but it was...nice. It felt peaceful. We should ask Deaton about it when we get home. He said something about you being or having a spark or something? Maybe he’ll know something.”

“Maybe. Should I be freaked out? Things don’t go well for me that often, and I just got done being possessed and now this? What if it’s a bad thing?”

“Well, you said it doesn’t feel bad, and so far it definitely hasn’t done anything malevolent. Let’s try not to worry too much about it.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, yawning wide, “okay. I trust you. Let’s try that whole not worrying thing on for something different. I’m gonna take a nap now. Being all magical and mystical is exhausting.”

Derek just grins and shakes his head, reaching over to turn the stereo on. Stiles reaches into the back seat and feels around until his hand touches smooth leather. He drags Derek’s jacket into the front with him. “May I?”

Derek’s voice is low and rough, “Of course.”

Stiles offers him his best smile and curls up against the door, pulling the coat around him and happily inhaling Derek’s scent. He’s dead to the world moments later.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Derek’s voice in his ear. “Wake up.”

“What? Huh?” Stiles says, flailing a bit, trying to orient himself.

“Come on, sleepy head, we’re going to find you a coat.”

“A what? Why? Where are we? How long was I asleep?”

“A proper coat. Because it’s too cold for you to only have sweatshirts. Whitefish, Montana. About forty minutes,” Derek shoots right back at him.

“Oooh, yeah” Stiles says in his best porno impression, “talk fast to me big boy.”

“Stiles,” Derek growls, and yeah, Stiles should probably work on his brain to mouth filter, but damn, Derek keeping up with him is such a turn-on. “Come on you idiot. The store’s that way.” Stiles just sticks his tongue out at him and follows him down the street.

There’s actually a lot of stores. It’s one of those touristy places with a bunch of small shops lining the streets. The town looks like a picture from a magazine. “Wait, did you say Whitefish Montana?”

“Yup.”

“Hey! Sam and Dean have a cabin here,” Stiles exclaims, bouncing on the ball of his foot, “Or their friend does anyway.”

“You’re not making sense again,” Derek sighs.

“You know, in the Supernatural books? Sam and Dean hole up in Whitefish Montana for a while.”

Derek just rolls his eyes and drags Stiles back up the street again. They end up in a shop with a pretty good selection of jackets for this kind of place anyway, and Stiles is busy trying to find something not too hideous that won’t cost a fortune when Derek thrusts something soft into his hands. “Try this one.”

It’s a brown leather bomber jacket lined in soft cream colored sherpa and it feels amazing. Stiles kind of wants to coo when he puts it on. He also almost yelps when he sees the price tag. It’s the kind of coat that would be expensive anywhere, but in a small shop in a tourist trap? “I could buy a small island for the cost of this coat,” he squeaks at Derek, pulling the jacket off.

“A very small island, maybe,” Derek admits, “But we’re getting it.”

“No way dude. I’m not spending all my savings for a jacket.”

“I’ll buy it for you. It’s a favor to myself, really. It makes you look older and I’m tired of people looking at me like I kidnapped you or something.”

“I’m held captive only for my love by you,” Stiles says in a gooey voice, and Derek lets out an exasperated puff of air. “But seriously, I can’t let you pay for this.”

“Stiles, I have a lot of money. And I don’t like to spend it on myself because, uh…” he rubs a hand across his neck, looking pained, “Uh because of how I got it. I would like to buy this for you, ok?”

And really, what can you say to that? “Okay, Der. It’s awesome. Thank you.” He shrugs off the coat and hands it to Derek so he can go pay for it. He still feels guilty about Derek paying, so he wanders around the store restlessly, fingers fluttering over items until Derek comes and pulls him away and they head back to the car.

**

Stiles is excited when Derek tells him they’re going to Glacier National Park. He’s seen pictures and it looks amazing. He’s never been a big outdoors kid, preferring books and his computer to hanging around outside, but lately he feels differently about it. He’s come to appreciate the peace that nature affords him. He feels more connected somehow, grounded. He needs it. As pretty as their drive has been so far, Glacier is supposed to be even more beautiful and he’s looking forward to taking in the sights.

They pull up to the gate and Derek hands over the money required to enter. “If you plan to go hiking, be careful,” the ranger tells them. “The Grizzly bears have been extra active in the past week. Best to stay near populated areas.”

“Thank you sir, I think we’ll be fine,” Derek says, and when he turns to Stiles he flashes a smile that has more teeth than usual.

“So,” Stiles asks as they drive up the winding road, “Grizzly bear vs. Werewolf, werewolf wins?”

“I haven’t actually come across a Grizzly bear, but usually, yeah. We’re different enough that it makes animals uneasy. They’d rather leave us alone then fight and find out what we are.”

“Usually?” Stiles squeaks. “You’re going to take me into bear-infested wilderness on a supposition?”

“We’re not going into the wilderness,” Derek sighs. “Be quiet and enjoy the view, huh?”

Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes, but does turn to look out the window.

They don’t get very far into the park before Derek pulls the car into a parking lot facing a wall of trees. “You up for a little walk? There’s supposed to be a really cool waterfall a little ways back there. I have a friend who used to come up here all the time. Says it’s not a very well-known attraction so we should have it mostly to ourselves.” There’s only one other car in the parking lot, so Stiles thinks he’s probably right. He shrugs and climbs out of the car.

It’s not until they’re standing at the trailhead that Stiles starts to get nervous. “I don’t- I don’t want to.”

Derek halts and looks around at Stiles. “Is this about the bears?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“ I told you we’ll be fine. You’ll be safe with me, Stiles. I would definitely smell a bear before it got to us anyway, ok?”

“O-okay,” Stiles says, pushing his fear down. Derek’s right. He’s being silly.

They head into the trees and it’s not long before they can’t hear the cars going by on the road, just the silence of the forest. That’s all Stiles can hear anyway, but Derek turns and reassures him, “Not long now. I can hear the water.”

The falls is, in fact, gorgeous, but Stiles can’t push back the uneasiness settling deep into his core. Derek reaches into his jacket and produces a bottle of water, taking a long pull himself before offering it to Stiles. Stiles sips it and stares into the rushing water. It gives him an unpleasant floating feeling, and he drags his eyes away, tugs at Derek’s arm. “Can we go now?”

Derek just nods and leads them back the way they came. The sound of the falls is still loud when Derek stutters to a stop, nostrils flaring. Stiles’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He turns around and looks and then he can’t breathe at all. The bear is standing just to the side of the trail and it’s huge, brown fur rippling along massive shoulders. Stiles has never seen an animal this large except in a zoo. There’s no protective glass here. There’s nothing to stop the bear from charging forward at Stiles. Nothing but Derek, who is suddenly between Stiles and the bear. The bear hasn’t moved from it’s spot, just watching them.

Stiles can see the change in Derek only slightly from this angle, but he knows Derek has shifted. Derek roars and Stiles jumps. The bear just pauses a second before ambling back into the woods. It shouldn’t be a big deal. There was a bear, and now it is gone. Derek was right, they’re fine, but Stiles is terrified. He can’t breathe right and there are spots dotting his vision. He doesn’t know when it happened, but he’s clutching Derek’s hand like a life-line. “I don’t- I don’t want to,” he keeps whispering, even though it doesn’t make any sense.

He knows Derek is trying to talk to him, but he can’t hear him. He forces himself to breathe and sinks back into that place he was hoping to never go to again. Everything is muffled and quiet and he focuses on keeping the darkness back. It takes all his energy, all his focus. He stumbles when Derek pulls him forward, but he manages to keep putting one foot in front of the other, adds it into the other rhythms he uses to keep the darkness away. He doesn’t dare do anything else, pushes away the urge to listen to Derek, to speak, to do anything that might let the darkness come back in. One step after another. One breath after another.

**

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Derek’s brain accuses him in an endless loop. Stiles was doing so well and Derek had to force him to go do something he didn’t want to do and now he’s lost him. Stiles’s eyes have that vacant look again and he’s not speaking to or acknowledging Derek in any way. Derek is much more scared of that vacant look than he was of the bear. He focuses on getting Stiles back to the car. Stiles’s hand is still wrapped in his own as he leads him down the trail, one careful step at a time.

He’s relieved when they get to the car. He puts Stiles into the passenger seat, covering him with his own coat, rather than the one he bought him earlier that day. He doesn’t know if the scent of something familiar will help Stiles or not, but it can’t hurt.

He turns the car around and heads back the way they came. He needs to get Stiles out of here. Needs to get him somewhere safe and hope he’ll come back to himself. Hope that he hasn’t royally fucked this up, that he won’t be calling the Sheriff with bad news tomorrow.

He uses his phone to find a small bed and breakfast. Somehow the thought of bringing Stiles to some big, cold hotel feels wrong. He needs Stiles as safe and close as he can get him. Needs him to be somewhere that feels at least a little like a home. He’s wary about leaving Stiles in the car, but it seems like the better option. He explains to the cheery lady that his boyfriend is sick and needs to rest. It’s still early in the day and she nods with understanding. “I’ll cook you up some nice warm soup, dear, if you’d like that?” He says he thinks that might be good, even though he’s not sure if either of them can eat. She shows him to the room at the top of the stairs. Derek’s oddly relieved to see it’s not smothered in flowers like a lot of these places. There’s a nice homey quilt on the bed and simple pictures on the walls. Kind of feels like his grandma’s house used to.

He goes to fetch Stiles after thanking the lady, Matilda, and making arrangements for her to just leave the soup outside their door and add the bill to the room. He’s grateful to see that Stiles hasn’t taken off at least, although his eyes are still dull and lifeless. He leaves Stiles sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed while he goes and fetches their bags. He has to force himself to remain calm. Losing Stiles was hard in the first place, but now after what he’s had with him the past couple days, it feels unbearable.

Stiles at least looks up at him when he walks into the room this time. He’s not totally lost in his head anymore, so that’s something. Derek looks through the bags until he finds Stiles’s favorite pair of pajama bottoms and a soft gray t-shirt. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable, okay?” He winces at his own wording, half expecting a ribbing from Stiles, but all he gets is a small nod. It makes him unreasonably happy to get even that much.

He paces the room for a couple minutes, giving Stiles space, but Stiles doesn’t make a move to put on the pajamas. “Okay,” he says, “Okay, let me help you, yeah?” Stiles only blinks at him, so Derek takes that as all the permission he’s going to get. He slides his fingers under Stiles t-shirt and helps him pull it up over his head. Stiles’s movements are odd and jerky, but he helps Derek as best he can and they manage to get him into the fresh t-shirt without too much trouble. His hands move to Stiles’s fly next, and he hesitates for just a second before undoing the button. There’s nothing sexual in what they’re doing, but somehow it’s still the most intimate thing Derek has ever done. More intimate for the lack of sex in some ways. This isn’t leading anywhere. This isn’t foreplay. This is just Derek touching Stiles more gently than he’s ever touched anyone, entering his space and taking care of him like it’s his job. Like it’s his right.

He slides the jeans down Stiles’s legs and helps him step out of them and into the sleep pants. When he gets back up he realizes that Stiles is crying, huge silent tears slipping down his face. He lurches forward and falls into Derek’s chest. Derek wraps his arms around him and they stay that way for a long time, Derek’s shirt getting soaked through with tears. When Stiles finally steps away Derek pulls the covers back on the bed and fluffs up a stack of pillows for Stiles to lie against, tucking him in with the blanket up to his chest. He finds a pair of sweats and slips out of his jeans and into them before searching around for the book he brought from the car. It’s the fourth Supernatural book, the one Stiles said was his favorite. He crawls into bed beside Stiles and props himself up against the headboard. Stiles immediately shifts until he’s flush against him. Derek makes him drink some water before he starts reading and Stiles looks better already although his face is still blotchy from crying.

He reads for a long time, voice getting scratchy. Dean and Castiel are meeting for the first time when Stiles finally speaks.“Sterek,” he mumbles sleepily.

Derek sets the book down and looks at him. “What did you just say?”

“Sterek,” Stiles says more firmly. “You know how the fandom calls Dean and Castiel ‘Destiel’? We’d be Sterek. Stiles and Derek, Sterek.”

“Why is your name first?” Derek is freaking out internally that Stiles is actually talking, but apparently argumentative is his factory setting when it comes to Stiles, breakthrough or not.

“Because Dertiles sounds stupid. And I don’t know what you’re going on about, since most of it is your name anyway.”

“True,” Derek agrees, ignoring the real point, which is why someone would bother mashing their names into a single name in the first place.

“Mhmm,” Stiles murmurs in agreement. “Another point for Stiles.” He curls tighter into his side, and Derek puts an arm around him without thinking, pulls him close. Stiles makes a little sound of contentment and pokes Derek’s leg. “Keep reading. I like the part where Castiel says ‘you don’t think you deserve to be saved.’ I think we’re almost there.”

It’s all he can do to calm the jackhammer of his heart and get back to reading. It’s awkward reading with only one hand free to turn pages, but he can’t bring himself to let go of Stiles. All the tension has run out of Stiles’s body and he’s flopped heavily against Derek’s side. Worse is the way he keeps running a finger absent-mindedly around Derek’s thigh, making patterns of loops and circles. Derek’s glad for the distraction when Matilda knocks on the door to tell them the soup is ready. He waits until her footsteps fade away to pull himself away from Stiles and go fetch it from the hall.

“Think you can eat?”

“Kind of starving actually,” Stiles says.

“Good.” He sets the tray down on the small table in the corner and uncovers two steaming bowls of beef stew that smell incredibly good. Stiles pads over from the bed and sits down beside him. They eat in silence, both cleaning their bowls.

It’s too late for a nap and too early for bed when they’re done, but Stiles looks about ready to fall over, so Derek drags him to bed anyway. He tucks him in and sits at the table again, limbs twitchy and unsettled. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes have passed when Stiles flops over and turns towards Derek. “Der, will you come sit by me? Want you close,” he almost whispers.

It’s all Derek’s body needs to relax. He stops wanting to jump out of his skin as soon as he heads towards Stiles and without even thinking about what he’s doing, he crawls into bed beside him and lies down, pulling Stiles against his chest. He doesn’t have to wonder if he’s made the right choice because Stiles hums out “perfect,” and then promptly falls asleep.

They wake up around 1:00 in the morning, because that’s what happens when you go to bed at six o’clock at night. Stiles is rumpled, hair every which direction, but he smells content, the sharp smell of fear and sadness that burned Derek’s nostrils all day has faded almost completely. They end up sitting on the bed while Derek teaches Stiles ten different ways to play solitaire, cards spread out between them. Stiles is subdued, but Derek keeps catching him staring, mouth turned up in a little smile.

When they’re ready for a few more hours of sleep, Stiles lays his head on Derek’s chest and hooks his leg over his in an easy intimacy that somehow makes perfect sense, no matter how out of the blue it is. Derek falls asleep with Stiles’s hair tickling his nose.

Stiles is sitting cross-legged on the bed, picking at his pajama pants when Derek wakes up. They look at each other for a minute and then Stiles says, “I think we need to go home.”

Derek’s stomach drops. “Home” is where this all started for Stiles. “Home” is where Stiles and Derek live separate lives, where Scott is Stiles’s best friend and Derek takes what he can get. He feels himself shutting down, wanting to pull away. “Okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Not like right away. Not as fast as we can, just...heading that way with more purpose, you know? I still want to see Glacier Park, and maybe Yellowstone too. We could take our time.”

At least Stiles isn’t eager to get away from him. He still feels nervous about going home, and he’s sure Stiles is too.

As if Stiles can read his mind he says, “I’m scared, you know? Sometimes I want to stay here forever, but I can’t. I need to see my Dad and Scott. I need to know I can be okay there. If I can be okay there,” he adds, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Derek nods, feeling guilty for worrying how returning will affect his relationship with Stiles when Stiles has so much more on his plate. He resolves to be there for him in whatever way he needs. That’s what he’s supposed to be doing anyway. This is for Stiles, not him, even though this trip is the happiest he’s been since the fire. He’ll be fine, whatever happens. He’s already lived through everybody’s worst case scenario. He’ll survive losing Stiles if he has to, even though the thought makes his chest feel tight and breathing suddenly difficult. “It’s going to be alright,” he reassures Stiles, and himself.

They end up taking almost a week to get home. The first night back on the road Derek gets a hotel with two beds, but Stiles doesn’t even look at the second bed, just curls up beside Derek like he belongs there. He doesn’t bother with two beds after that.

They see all sorts of things- big landmarks as well as the sort of bizarre Americana that makes you wonder how on earth something like it exists. Those are Stiles’s favorite. He makes Derek take his picture beside over-sized statues and even at the multiple truly strange rest stops that pop up across the empty stretches of eastern Montana and the Dakotas.

Along with the bed-sharing, Stiles has gone back to his endless teasing and flirting. Just when Derek doesn’t think Stiles can think of any more, he comes up with another pet name. He flutters his eyelashes at Derek as if he has no idea what it does to Derek, which he probably doesn’t, and he’s constantly touching, little touches without intent or weight, like he can’t stop himself. Derek is going to drive himself crazy trying to figure out what it means, if Stiles is simply teasing him, or if he feels something deeper. Of course the question he doesn’t want to ask is whether this is all going away when they get home.

Home gets closer every day and they both get quieter the closer they get. When they hit Beacon Hills Stiles goes a little pale. Derek can hear him forcing himself to breathe deep. He rests his hand on Stiles’s knee, squeezing lightly and Stiles looks over and gives him a small smile. It feels like months ago that he pulled up into this driveway and put a silent Stiles into his car. The sheriff’s car is in the driveway, and Derek’s glad he’ll be here when Stiles walks in the door.

They sit in the car in the driveway and Derek doesn’t know how to break the silence. Finally Stiles speaks. “Thank you.” He doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes, hands twisting nervously in his lap. “I’m never going to be able to repay you for this. For everything. You…” he shakes his head, trails off.

“There’s nothing to repay,” Derek says honestly. “I’m glad you’re...better.” The sheriff comes out onto the porch then and Derek nods at him. “Go say hi to your dad. I’ll get your bags, okay?”

Stiles nods, and Derek notices that his hands are trembling. He squeezes his knee one more time both to reassure him, and because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to again. Stiles gets out and jogs up to the porch. The sheriff grabs him in a tight hug and Derek just watches frozen for a few seconds before pulling himself together enough to get Stiles’s stuff. Stiles and his dad are still hugging, talking into each other’s necks in a moment Derek has no business being a part of, so he sets the bags on the porch and slips back to his car and out the driveway, feeling like he’s lost something.

**

Stiles and his dad fall into each other and don’t let go for a long time, crying and babbling incoherently at each other. He thinks he may have cried more in the past two weeks than he has in the past two years, but maybe it’s okay. When they’re finally done he turns around and finds his bags on the porch, but no Derek. The camaro is gone from the driveway. It makes Stiles’s heart hurt a little. The truth is that he wants to wrap Derek in a hug and babble incoherently at him too.

His dad follows his gaze and looks searchingly at Stiles, but doesn’t say anything except, “Hungry? I can order pizza.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’m going to get my stuff to my room.” He grabs the duffle and an assortment of other odds and ends and the leather jacket, folded carefully on top of everything. He runs his fingers over it before scooping everything up and hauling it to his room.

Stepping into his bedroom is overwhelming. He drops everything at his feet and stands in the doorway for a long time. He remembers what it looked like covered with strings and papers. Remembers the long hours researching for the pack. Remembers what it felt like to lie on his back and wonder if he was losing his mind. (Newsflash: he was) And he remembers Derek, lying right there on that bed, arms on his chest, telling Stiles about his mom and his sisters, talking when Stiles wouldn’t, when Stiles couldn’t.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window when his dad finds him. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah. Just...weird to be back.”

His dad nods in understanding. “Pizza’s here.”

“Do you think I could call Scott and see if he wants to come over?”

“Sure thing. I ordered extra anyway.”

“Cool. Thanks Dad.” His dad just smiles and leaves.

Scott comes bounding over ten minutes later, hugs Stiles so tight he can’t breath. “Dude, werewolf strength,” he reminds him. Scott laughs and pounds him on the back.

They eat pizza and watch a detective show even though his dad just picks it to pieces anyway. It’s kind of like old times. Afterwards, Stiles and Scott go to Stiles’s bedroom and talk. Scott asks him about the trip, but everything Stiles says seems to remind him of something that happened while Stiles was away, mostly something involving Kira, Stiles notes. Scott doesn’t even ask about Derek. Which is probably okay because Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready to talk about just how ridiculously in love he is with him, but it’s still weird that Scott doesn’t ask, like he’s completely forgotten that something that big has happened to Stiles, that Stiles called him and told him he was in love. It’s Scott, so it’s possible he has forgotten, to be honest.

So he sits and listens to Scott go on about Kira, just like he used to go on about Allison (it still hurts to even think her name) and he wonders what it’s like to be that oblivious. Scott is a good guy. A really good guy, and he’s always going to be like a brother to Stiles, but it’s not the same. Not anymore. He realizes that he already misses Derek. Derek knows what it’s like to have your whole world shattered in a way that leaves you profoundly changed. More importantly, Derek takes care of him. It’s not that Scott doesn’t care about him it’s just that Scott has always been sort of terminally self-absorbed, especially when there’s a girl in the picture.

He plays video games with Scott until his dad comes in and says goodnight and Scott remembers he has to work in the morning. Stiles is left alone in his room minutes later. He goes to the bathroom and takes a shower, brushes his teeth and puts on his boxers and climbs into bed. He turns out the light and lies staring up at the ceiling. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep.

He’s been tossing and turning for about an hour when he gives up and turns on his phone. He finds Derek in his contacts and hits the message button. Sleeping alone is stupid, he types. Before he can think about it too much, he hits send. That’s when he hears Derek’s notification sound go off. “Derek?” He calls out softly. There’s no answer, so he types it into his phone. Derek? There it goes again, sounding for all the world like it’s right outside Stiles’s window. “Oh my God, you’re such a creeper,” Stiles says into the air. “Get your butt in here.” It’s quiet and then Stiles’s window is being pushed up and Derek is crawling through it. “Boots off, jeans off, get your ass into this bed,” Stiles orders. To his surprise, Derek does exactly that.

“Mmm, yes,” Stiles says, because it’s late and he’s tired and pretending he’s not totally into Derek is too exhausting to think about. He latches onto Derek and pushes his face into his chest. “What were you doing out there?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Derek says. Stiles can feel his breath in little puffs against his hair.

It’s dark and Stiles feels safe in Derek’s arms so he says, “I missed you.”

“We’ve only been apart for a few hours.”

“Says the guy who was sitting outside my window.”

“Yeah okay. I missed you too,” Derek finally admits. He moves his hand up and runs his fingers through Stiles’s hair, then down around the side of his face, tracing his jaw line.

If Stiles were a cat, he’d definitely be purring right now. This is the most content he’s felt all day. To be incredibly cheesy about it, Derek’s arms feel like home. The tension drains out of all his muscles and he sighs, brings his own hand up to rest against Derek’s chest and feel the beating of his heart. They’re definitely going to need talk about what’s going on between them, but it can wait until tomorrow.

**

Derek wakes up when the Sheriff starts getting ready for work. He listens to the quiet sounds of the Sheriff’s morning- the shower running, the buzz of the razor, toast popping up in the kitchen, the rustle of a newspaper.

Stiles has scooted down during the night, body at an awkward angle on the bed, his head on Derek’s stomach. He’s leaving a little puddle of drool on Derek’s t-shirt, which is gross, but somehow doesn’t bother him. He finds himself running his fingers through Stiles’s hair again. He’s busy trying not to think about what all this means when he hears the door knob turning. Shit! He startles, unsure whether to try to disappear before the Sheriff gets in the door. Why wasn’t he paying more attention? Why didn’t he realize that of course the Sheriff would check in on Stiles before he headed out for the day?

He’s still frozen in indecision, hand in Stiles’s hair, eyes wide, when the Sheriff opens the door. The Sheriff pauses for a moment at the sight in front of him, and then he chuckles and shakes his head a little. Derek opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but the Sheriff puts his fingers to his lips and then mouths “Let him sleep,” and closes the door. So apparently Derek has Stiles’s dad’s blessing for whatever this is they have going on. In fact, he didn’t even seem surprised. The man is a mystery to him.

He drifts back to sleep until he feels Stiles stirring. He blinks his eyes open and looks down to see Stiles looking back at him. His amber eyes almost look like they’re glowing in the light seeping through the blinds. He’s breathtaking.

“Did I hear my dad earlier?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah. He came in to check on you before he left for work.”

“He did? What did he do?” Stiles’s eyes are huge.

“Uh, he just kind of laughed and then told me not to wake you up.”

“Dude, my dad is the best.”

“He kind of is,” Derek agrees.

“So what did you say? Did you tell him you can’t ever sleep without me again? Because you kind of aren’t allowed to ever sleep without me again.” He smiles wide at Derek and jabs at him playfully.

Derek fights down the urge to blush and pokes him in the side and Stiles lets out a squeak and skitters away from him on the bed. “Ha!” Derek says triumphantly, happy for a distraction. “You’re ticklish! I can’t believe you’re ticklish. Wait, no, I can absolutely believe you’re ticklish.”

“Fuck you!” Stiles says, but Derek is already on top of him, tickling him breathless.

He stops to let Stiles breathe and takes a moment to look at Stiles spread out below him. His cheeks are flushed and he’s smiling. He looks happy and so, so alive and it makes Derek’s whole body flood with relief.

“Derek,” Stiles says beneath him, “For fuck’s sake, will you just kiss me already?”

It’s not what he was expecting, it almost never is with Stiles, but he doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s bending down to kiss him. Stiles wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him closer, parts his lips to take him in. When they finally come up for air Stiles breathes out a sigh and says “Finally! Thank God!” his mouth pulled up into a little smirk. Derek can’t help but laugh. He’s spent all this time worrying about this, wondering if he’ll lose Stiles, if it would change their relationships. Now it seems silly because it just feels right, the way their bodies fit against each other. It feels natural to bend down and suck Stiles’ full, pink lip into his mouth, teasing at it until Stiles groans beneath him and pushes his fingers into his hair. Both their mouths are still gross from the morning, and Derek laughs again when Stiles reaches into the nightstand and produces tic tacs with a cheeky smile.

Stiles, predictably, is not quiet, even while making out. “Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ finally. Just like that.” He says against Derek’s neck, hips rolling up to press their bodies tight together. Derek finds himself letting out a growl because even through three layers of cloth, the feeling of Stiles pressing up against his erection sends a slow sweet burn through his whole body. “Mmmm…” Stiles pulls him down for another kiss, “So fucking good, Derek.” He tells him. “Can’t believe you made me wait this long.”

“Can’t believe I made me wait this long,” Derek admits to him. They roll down against each other again, both sighing into the sensation. “You’re- God, Stiles,” Derek looks down at him and the words spill out. “You’re so gorgeous. God you’re beautiful.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He wonders for a moment if Stiles will be offended by the adjectives, if he would have preferred something more manly like “hot” or “sexy,” but Stiles is looking up at him with large eyes that are shiny with emotion.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course.”

“Of course?” Stiles flails a little, eyebrows raised incredulously. “Have you seen you? You’re all cheekbones and muscles and…and…” he sweeps his hand down Derek’s body as if it will explain everything he can’t say. “And me? I’m skinny and pale and awkward and you think I’m beautiful?”

“You are.” He doesn’t trust himself to say more because he feels like if he keeps talking he’s going to tell Stiles how he’s pictured kissing every part of his long, lean body. How often he’s imagined how perfect that edible mouth would look wrapped around his cock. Or, most embarrassingly, how when he watches Stiles sleep, eyelashes fanned out across his pale cheeks, lips softly parted, he finds his heart beating out a rhythm chanting I love you. I love you. I love you. Stiles is just barely 18. He doesn’t need to hear how Derek wants to spend every waking moment of forever with him.

So instead he gives everything to him in a kiss. He presses in and sucks Stiles’s tongue until he’s squirming beneath him and then moves his hand down his stomach until his fingers are teasing at the waistband of his sweats. “May I?” He asks Stiles.

Stiles’s eyes are huge and his breath is coming out in little pants, but he nods. “Please.”

Derek jerks him off slowly, watches the way Stiles squirms like it’s almost too much, listens to the soft noises he makes, the whimpers that drown in his throat when Derek kisses him deep. It’s just a handjob, but it feels like more. Frankly, it’s the hottest sex Derek has ever had, just being with Stiles like this. It closes up wounds that have festered for far too long and he lets himself enjoy the simple touches, the way Stiles looks at him with complete adoration in his eyes, the feel of his foot digging into the small of Derek’s back where he’s hooked his leg around him. His own erection bumps up against Stiles’s thigh, but ignores it for the most part. Right now Stiles is everything.

When Stiles comes it’s surprisingly quiet. He huffs out little breaths of air, eyes squeezed shut as he pulses over Derek’s hand. The scent is overwhelming and heady for Derek. He rolls off Stiles and lies down on his back, feeling light-headed.

Stiles’s breath is still heavy and he reaches over without looking, seemingly okay with landing a hand wherever he can.“That was- I mean you were-and I just-”

“Gonna finish a sentence any time soon?” Derek asks with a smirk.

“You are such an ass,” Stiles says, “I don’t know why I love you.” They both freeze and Stiles’s face turns panic-stricken. “Oh my god. Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry Derek. I didn’t mean it.” He starts trying to scramble sideways on the bed like he needs to get away, but Derek hold him in place with an arm over his chest.

“Didn’t mean it, or didn’t mean to say it?” His voice comes out more calm than he feels.

“I…” Stiles glances over at him and then down, his cheeks turning red. “The second one,” he mumbles, sounding miserable. “And I know you probably think I’m just a stupid kid and I don’t know what love is, but I do. I do, and I know that I love you. You totally don’t have to say it or even feel it back, but there it is. I know I’m breaking all the rules by saying it, but I love you. I love you so fucking much and I…”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts him, “look at me.” Stiles turns after a few seconds and focuses on him and Derek’s heart feels like it’s going to stop dead. “Me too,” he manages to get out.

“You too? You love me?” Stiles’s voice is incredulous, barely more than a whisper.

Derek nods. “It doesn’t have to mean anything that you don’t want it to mean, okay? You’re young. You might change your mind, and that’s alright. We’ll just take it a day at a time and- umph!” His breath is knocked out of him as Stiles tackles him. He can’t keep track of him, lips and tongue darting up and down Derek’s neck, down into the hollow of his throat, then brushing over his lips, now tugging at his earlobe. “What are you doing?” Derek finally asks when he can get his wits about him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, “Oh my God, I just can’t not touch you everywhere right now.” He’s still kissing in between words. He pushes at Derek’s boxers. “Please let me get you off,” and Derek is achingly aware again that he’s still hard. “I’ve never done it before and I don’t know if it will be any good but I have to touch you. Please?”

Derek can do little more than nod and Stiles pushes the waistband down and pulls him out. “I’ve never seen an uncut one in real life,” Stiles tells him. He slides his hand up and down slowly, watching the skin slide with his hand. “You’re big,” he adds, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I like it.” Derek’s caught somewhere between ridiculously turned on and strangely shy, watching Stiles get used to his dick, cataloguing it like he’s doing research. It’s the best kind of torture.

“I’m not going to try blowing you, because that shit looks hard. Hard. Heh. No pun intended,” Stiles says, still stroking lightly up and down, “But I really just- I’m gonna just-” he bends forward and presses his lips to the head of Derek’s cock, like an open-mouthed kiss. Derek will not be held responsible for the noise that comes out of him at that.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He asks.

“You like that, huh? You know, I read on the internet that uncut guys really like this one thing. Imma try it.” Without further ado he slides his tongue under the foreskin in small strokes, moaning a little bit in the back of his throat when Derek gasps.

“Fuck, Stiles, fuck. Come up here.” He pulls lightly at Stiles’s hair and drags him up to his lips. They get lost in a dirty kiss for a while, but then he wraps his hand around Stiles’s and shows him how he likes to jerk off. Stiles tries to keep up with his rhythm even while he sucks hickies into Derek’s neck, complaining as they fade away.

It doesn’t take Derek long to come, and he wants to come again when he sees Stiles’s self-satisfied smile as he catches a few drops on the chin.

Stiles collapses on top of Derek and purposefully rubs their bellies together, pushing the spunk between them. “We are fucking filthy,” he says jubilantly. “That probably shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. Is that weird?”

“Maybe, but it’s you, so are we really surprised?”

“Again with the smartassery. You know what? Whatever. I just had sex with Derek Hale. Nothing is going to bring me down.”

“You know the whole pack is going to know what we did, right?” Derek asks, trying not to sound too pleased about it.

Obviously he fails. “And you like that? You like everyone knowing you marked me up? Like them knowing I’m yours?”

His eyes flash red before he can stop them. “You know that mouth of yours is going to be the death of me.”

“Meh. With all the supernatural creatures who just looove to vacation here, me and my mouth will be the least of your worries.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Stiles rolls off and curls into Derek’s side, soft and pliant. “We’re gonna’ be okay, right Der?” He asks.

“Yeah,” he says, “We’re going to be okay,” and for the first time in a long time, he believes it.

**  
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**Author's Note:**

> I read this fic over so many times, and I know it will never be completed to my satisfaction. I don't have a beta, so I'm sure there's still many issues. Please let me know your thoughts, I would so appreciate it. I'm kind of fond of this one though, so if you can be gentle, I'd appreciate it. 
> 
> Many thanks to A, who read this and squealed with me and helped point out some errors. All remaining mistakes and issues are my own.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at Sophee83 if you want to chat or squee over pretty boys with me.


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